Third Time's the Charm (Sort of)
by waterlilylf
Summary: Duo discovers that meeting people - one person in particular - is so much easier in his head than in real life. Especially as that one other person seems determined not to notice him, whatever he does...1 x 2 get together.
1. Chapter 1

A/N 1: The GW universe does not belong to me, and I make no monetary profit from writing.

A/N 2: This is a (slightly belated) story for Dyna Dee's birthday. Surprise (as promisedMany thanks to Kaeru Shisho for editing and enthusiasm and the fluffhead comment...

Third Time's the Charm (Sort of):

So, you know there's this old saying that if you happen to bump into someone three times in the one day, that person's going to be important in your life?

I've kind of edited that a little bit. To wit, if you happen to see the same person five times over a six-week period, that person is going to be important to you. Even if he doesn't know it yet.

Or hasn't even noticed you.

The first time I saw this guy, we were both at the farmers' market, and, yeah, I thought he was hot, but totally unavailable, since he was bracketed on one side by a tall, brown-haired guy, and on the other by a grumpy-looking bulldog. Very cute though. Looking like some sort of gay lifestyle advertisement; hot couple with designer dog buying organic apples. (Except for the clothes this guy was wearing. Oh, godawful, truly.)

Nice, but not on the market. (Heh)

Move on, Duo.

Time number two. Blur. (Popular new gay nightclub in Sanq City. Bit too much of a pick-up joint, but that kinda comes with the territory.) Saturday night, a month ago.

Bad news: accompanied by the tall guy he'd been with at the market.

Good news: tall guy apparently wasn't the boyfriend after all, since tall guy was all but having sex with some blond on the dance floor.

Bad news number the second: just as I was finishing my drink and psyching myself up to go over and say something slinky, someone got there before me. A very nice someone as well: a Chinese guy with with gorgeous dark eyes. (Badly dressed, though. And yeah, I'm shallow like that; I always notice clothes. I can't help it. I used to be do modelling.) Normally, to be honest, a niggly little detail like another guy mightn't have stopped me from at least trying. But this one..I dunno. There was a definite air of sadness about him, and something very touching in the way the other guy – my personal guy – was leaning and talking to him.

Right. Fast forward to the next week. For the record, despite what my friend Hilde says, I was / am totally not stalking this guy. I just happened to be at the farmers' market. I go there all the time. It just happened to be at around the same time that I'd seen him there previously. Pure coincidence. Truly. And I hung around for a bit longer than usual because I was going around the craft stalls to find a birthday present for Hilde. Because I'm an organised person who likes to get these things a month or two in advance.

So, anyway, there he was. Eventually. Score! Except – anti-score! He had the Chinese guy in tow, plus the cutest little puppy. A pug, maybe. One of those squashy-faced little dogs anyway.

They looked good together; well, no, actually, they _would_ have looked good if someone (i.e. me) had given both of them a hardcore sartorial makeover and dressed them in something that was remotely fashionable and flattering. As it was, they were both cute enough that they could almost get away with what they were wearing. They were clearly very close...except, not in a couple-y sort of way. Not like two guys who were really _together_ together.

Just good friends, I thought, watching them a bit wistfully.

After that, I started asking around a bit. I'm a writer; research is what I do. (Actually, that's not really true. I make stuff up, most of the time) But it turned out my friend Devon knew the tall guy, Trowa, I'd seem him with the first time. If you think that's a coincidence, it's not really. Sanq City's not that big a place; the gay scene is even smaller, and this Trowa guy was apparently on a mission to sleep his way through all of it. He'd been with Devon anyway, a couple of times; enough for Dev to have got a handle on who his friends were.

The Chinese guy – Wufei – wasn't a boyfriend either; I'd been right about that. But apparently they were best friends, and Wufei was just out of a bad break up.

My guy (I wish) was called Heero. He had some sort of brainy-financial job in a bank, and he was into fencing and horse-riding and outdoorsy stuff. Liked animals but didn't have a pet. Didn't have a boyfriend either. Definitely gay, but didn't seem to be into relationships.

Fourth sighting: ten days ago. Little cafe in town. Omens were all in my favour. I was wearing my absolute favourite suit since I'd just done an interview and he – for once – was alone, but he was coming out the door and I was going in, and just as I was willing our eyes to meet, a gang of noisy teenage girls pushed in past us, and one of them recognised me from that damn reality show, and then they were all clamouring for selfies and then Heero was gone.

Moment lost for ever.

Until now. (Bookshop. Department of massive textbooks devoted to numbers.) Me passing by, en route to the Fiction section, just to admire my new book. A wee bit sad, I know, but even after four years and three books, I still can't quite believe I'm a published author, albeit a very accidental one. I started keeping a diary a few years ago, at my therapist's suggestion, and to be honest, my life at that point was a bit boring, so I started spicing it up. Lots of sex and murders and gorgeous clothes, in assorted capital cities around the world. I submitted it to a publisher partly as a bit of a joke, but I knew loads of people in the magazine industry and one of them offered to show my manuscript to a friend of hers who worked in publishing. At that point, I was running out of money and needed to find some way to make a living, after finding out that my ex (ex-boyfriend, ex-agent, ex-everything really) had frittered away whatever money he hadn't swindled me out of.

So, there I was. And Heero Yuy, eyes buried in some hefty tone, not looking at me.

Go on, Duo. Do something!

Damn. Why couldn't he have browsing books I knew something about? I could have gone over and recommended something, or asked a remotely intelligent question about the book he was reading.

Anyway. Can't have everything.

Work it, Maxwell.

'Excuse me,' I murmur, all breathy, accidentally-on-purpose brushing against his arm as I reach up to take down the first book on the shelf beside him. I am wearing my most winsome, charming smile, head tilted slightly towards him, the tip of my tongue prepared to sneak out and tease my upper lip. The patented Maxwell seduction technique.

It doesn't work. He moves a step aside, but doesn't take his eyes off the book. Not even a flicker of a glance in my direction. Damnit! I'm on the point of asking him if he can reach a book on the next shelf for me – OK, we're about the same height, but desperate times and all that – when he moves off.

Oh, piffle.

I take off in very casual hot pursuit, but he's not going far, just to sit on one of the couches. OK, he looks pretty settled.

Time for Plan B!

Since I was about sixteen, everyone's told me that my ass is my best feature. (Which is kinda sad if you think about it too much, as it doesn't say a whole lot about the rest of me.) Still, maybe there's something in it, since it's been displayed on cinema screens and billboards and magazine covers, advertising everything from swimwear to Armani, and once some kind of furniture polish. (I know, I never really got that either.) Anyway, you have to work with what you've got.

So I sashay over, heading for the opposite couch. Just as I'm passing Heero – oops! I drop my keys, and make a big deal out of bending over to pick them up. For the record, I am wearing extremely well-fitted designer jeans. Just saying.

It's not the first time I've pulled off this little stunt. It never fails! I have a great ass, as mentioned previously, and am wearing the perfect outfit for it. The jeans, which cost a fortune, and were worth every cent, and a snazzy little sweater that rides up perfectly when I bend over.

Except Heero, as far as I can see, never even looks up.

Gah!

I sidle off, taking refuge behind a shelf of romance novels, a strategic place to keep an eye on him, and pull out my phone to send a quick text to my friend Hilde.

 _The cookie is in the jar._

 _Wtf duo?_

Nuts! Does the girl never listen to anything I tell her? Keeping an eye on Heero, who seems pretty well ensconced where he is for the moment, I call her.

'It's our _code_ ,' I hiss. 'For whenever I see Heero. I _told_ you.' Actually, I realise suddenly, maybe that conversation only happened in my head.

'Are you on drugs again?' she asks bluntly.

'No! It's the guy! The one I told you about. Heero. You know.'

'Oh. The guy you've been stalking for weeks.'

'I haven't been stalking him,' I protest. 'We just keep happening to be in the same places. It's fate.'

'Duo. You are totally stalking him.'

'Maybe a little bit stalking,' I admit. 'So. We're in that big bookshop near City Hall, and I'm trying to get his attention, and he keeps looking at some stupid book.'

'Well, that is what people normally do in bookshops,' she says, very dryly. ' _Normal_ people.'

'Ha ha,' I echo. 'Seriously, Hils. What am I going to do? He's by himself for about the first time ever; this is my chance to dazzle him, and he's not even looking at me.'

'Jeez, Duo,' she drawls. 'I don't talking to him? That's what most people do. It's not like you've never picked up a guy before. I mean I've been out with you; you normally just have to stand there and you have guys climbing over each other to get to you.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know.' I pull my braid over one shoulder and glare it at. Usually, it's a good way to catch people's attention. Why fail me now? 'This guy seems to have some of natural immunity though. What should I say?'

'Oh, for God's sake,' she huffs impatiently. 'Maxwell, you're a supposedly intelligent adult. Just – I dunno – ask him if he wants to go get a coffee or something.'

'That's _it_? That's your brilliant advice?'

'Look. You know he's gay; you're pretty sure he's single, right? You're cute, you're funny, you've got great clothes; you're totally insane but he probably won't notice that right off; just go and say hi and ask him if he's not doing anything, would he like to go and have a coffee with you. No biggie.'

'I guess,' I mutter, and hear her sigh.

'I don't get why you're so hung up on this Heero. You've picked up plenty of other guys.'

'Hey!'

'You know what I mean. Anyway, gotta go. Good luck. Go get him!'

'Yeah, thanks.' I slide my phone back in my pocket. Pish. Well, that was a waste of ten minutes of my life that I'm never going to get back. Talk to him. Yeah, right. To be honest, I don't know why I'm being so shy around Heero. I'm not shy, not really. Or at least, I'm very good at covering it. I normally don't have a problem approaching anyone. Except, while I've been not-stalking him, I've sort of got to know him. He's not just some random hot guy in club.

I like him.

I mean, I like what I know about him, which admittedly isn't a lot.

He seems like a decent, intelligent person. I like the fact that he's got two best friends whom he's apparently known for ever. Actually, I envy him that. He seems like a really good friend, from what I've seen. And I like his friends.

Well. To be honest, I'm a little on the fence about Trowa. He's a bit too much of a love-em-and-leave-em type, maybe. Granted, he's a vet who volunteers at an animal shelter in his free time, and apparently brings strays home to save them from being put down, and obviously kindness to animals is good, but I don't think he's quite so kind to the humans of the species. Apparently, he had his heart broken years back, when the guy he'd been with for years actually died, and now he doesn't do relationships. Just lots of sex.

Wufei, though. I think I could be friends with him. I don't know why. Maybe just because we've both been through bad break-ups. Bad relationships.

Anyway.

OK, time for plan C. My default plan for every situation, pretty much. I ask myself, what would Gil do? Gil is one of the two heroes in my books. He's a former model-turned-photographer and he's sort of based on me. OK, he's totally based on me, except he's way smarter and he tends to stumble over a lot of dead bodies (some very badly dismembered) on his assignments, which so far has never happened to me. (The first body he ever found was based on Solo, my evil ex. He was very badly dismembered. I was going through a bad patch.)

And he's got a boyfriend, even though it took him two books and seven corpses to hook up with Connor, who's a private detective.

What would Gil do? Of course, he'd go and talk to the hot guy. Proposition him. In the first book, before he met Connor, he was a bit of a slut.

Right.

Time to man up. Heero won't sit on that couch for ever. Although, if he wants to read that entire book, he'll be there for a month at least. Maybe there's no rush.

I pick up a novel as cover, so if my nerve fails, I can pretend that I'm just going to sit down and have a read. It's got a nice cover, actually. Some blonde girl in a flimsy dress wrapped around a half-naked Viking. Life's so unfair. Women get to have all these barely-covered Vikings and Scottish Highland warriors to drool over. (Which is stupid, really. Like guys in Northern Europe would go around without lots of warm clothes) My books got abstract covers, because my publisher says most people won't buy books with two guys making out. (Except in Germany, apparently. The Germans don't mind.)

OK. Enough time wasting. I tuck the book under my arm and off I go.

'Um.' Except, that little spurt of energy and courage over, I end up standing in front of him, like an idiot. My right hand doesn't know whether to fiddle with my braid or fidget with my left sleeve. 'Um. Hi.'

Finally, _finally_ , he looks up. Wowsies, his eyes are blue! He looks, if I had to honestly pick an emotion, just a tad irritated.

'Hi,' I repeat. Duo Maxwell, master of sparkling and scintillating repartee, take a bow. 'Ah, wouldyouliketogetacoffewithme?'

He blinks and I repeat it, a bit more slowly. 'Or, you know, tea? Or hot chocolate? Or something cold, like a smoothie? A fresh juice? And I'm going to stop talking now. But, you know, if you wanted, we could go for a drink. Or something. I'd pay. You wouldn't have to. Unless you really wanted.'

'Me?'

I swear to God, he actually looks behind him as if I might be talking to someone else.

'Ah. Yes?'

'Why?'

'Because...it's a hot day?' I hazard. Which is a lie. It's barely April, and it's cold out. Oh, why do natural disasters never come along when you need them? 'And...maybe ... you might be thirsty? Reading that book? It looks sort of dry. Although I'm sure it's really interesting,' I add hastily, not wanting him to think I'm being critical of his reading material.

He actually smiles then, and I swear, I go all squirmy. It's not even much of a smile, just a tiny, tiny quirk of his upper lip, right side, but I have a very optimistic personality.

And then he nods and stands up. Oh, God. I never thought he'd say yes. What to do now? There's a Starbucks in the basement here but it's not exactly special date-place material. My brain freezes for a second, and then I suddenly know just where to take him.

There's not a lot of conversation on the way; well, there's is, but it's all one-sided. Me babbling away, and Heero tossing me odd little glances, as if checking that I'm really ... real, I guess. It's sort of sweet.

Anyway, I haven't scared him away yet, and let's face it, at this point, the only way for me to go is up. All I have to do is string an intelligible sentence together, and I'll have surpassed myself. We get to Martha's Cafe after about five minutes. I haven't shut up, and he hasn't said a single word. He's smiled once or twice though.

We're lucky enough to snag a window table, and I stop talking for a second, letting him read his menu. I'm totally charmed when he orders hot chocolate with marshmallows. Somehow, I didn't think he'd go for something so frivolous. I order the same, and a plate of cookies to share.

'Or would you rather have cake?' I ask, watching the waitress walk away. 'We could get cake. They do an amazing blueberry cheesecake here. Or a coffee slice?'

'No cake, thank you.' He leans forward, fixing me with those amazing eyes. 'Why did you ask me here?'

'Why did you accept?' I shoot back as a cunning riposte. (I love that word. It always sounds like the flourish of a fencing foil. It's a swash-buckling word)

'All right.' There's a sharp edge in his voice, echoed by the scrape of chair-legs as he pushes back from the table, about to stand.

'No! Wait, please!' I say quickly, too panicked for anything but sheer honesty. 'I asked you because, oh fizz it, listen, I'm not a stalker or anything, and I know you haven't noticed me, but I've seen you around a few times in the last month. We were in the same club a couple of weeks ago, and I go to the market on Sunday sometimes, and I saw you there and I thought you looked...nice.'

'Nice?' he echoes back incredulously, staring at me.

Oh, pish. Tosh. I'm a writer; I make my living with words. And that's the best I can come up with.

'No, you're not _nice_! I mean, wait, you are obviously, I'm sure you are, but I just thought you were...' Oh, hell on a hot plate. I cannot think of a single appropriate adjective. Instead, I lean over and kiss him, and that's that, really.

Goodbye, cruel world. Hello, Heero Yuy's mouth, and crystalline-blue eyes, and oh, _hello_ , hand snaking around the back of my neck, holding me very firmly in place.

'I did notice you,' he says softly, when he finally lets me go.

I just grin at him like a double-headed loon, the world all afloat with marshmallow rainbows and gold-dusted candyfloss clouds.

 _Oh._

Oh. The marshmallows are real, suddenly, as our waitress plonks a tray on to our table, and beams at me. Uh oh. I know that look. Rumbled.

She ignores poor Heero totally; I get a handful of folded napkins, and a little chocolate stirrer, and easily twice as many marshmallows. I also get the inevitable pen thrust in front of my nose, and a request for my autograph.

'Sure, ' I take the pen, and glance at her name badge. 'To Clarissa, right?'

'No, to Tony, please. He's my brother, and he's, oh my God, like your biggest fan. He's got your books and that poster, that black-and-white one in the Armani suit, and he just loves you. And I know he's my brother and everything, but he's a really great guy, and it'd be like his dream to go out with you sometime.'

Oh, fizzle. I don't need this now. I quickly pen a message to 'Tony' and hand pen and paper back. Solo, and a couple of guys I'd been with after, had loved it when I got recognized in the street, loved it when they saw pictures of me displayed to the whole universe. Celebrities-by-association. I can tell that Heero's the sort who'd hate it. And probably isn't too keen on sitting there watching me getting set up on a date.

'That's really sweet. But um, I'm not really available,' I say, determinedly not looking anywhere near Heero.

'He's not remotely available,' Heero chips in, and they glare at each other for a minute, before she drops her eyes and stalks off. Oh. He's the possessive type then, quite clearly. Even though he doesn't technically possess me yet. Or doesn't realise it. That's different. Solo was pretty much the anti-possessive type. He'd throw me at anyone if he thought he might get something out of it, although he did then throw hissy fits if he thought after that I'd seemed too keen, enjoyed it too much.

'I'm so sorry about that,' I say quickly, scooping marshmallows into his cup from mine and handing it over.

He nods a thank you. 'Are you...some sort of celebrity then?' He says in the sort of distasteful tone that he might use for serial kitten-killer.

Fiddle. Every other guy in the world has fantasies about hooking up with celebs and I meet the one person who apparently finds it a total turn-off.

'No! God, no. I just used to do a bit of modelling, ages ago, nearly six years now, and then last year I did this TV show and...'

'You were on television?'

'Oh, it was just this silly reality thing. You wouldn't have seen it. But my agent thought it would be good publicity for the latest book. I'm a writer,' I put in, before he gets a chance to ask. 'Detective stories, but with two guys who're a couple so, well, oodles of sex.'

'I've never met a model before,' he says, and it's hard for me to tell whether that's a good or bad thing for him. Actually, no. It's pretty clear he doesn't like it much. Most people go all gushy and gooey. Not Heero. 'Did you like it?'

'Well, some of it. I liked the travelling,' I qualify, 'and I met some great people.' Also, lots who weren't so great, but I don't say that. 'And I got lots of free clothes.'

I leave it there. I don't tell him about the other stuff; the drugs and the eating disorder and the abusive ex. (In my defense, I was only seventeen when I met Solo, after a lifetime of foster homes and cardboard boxes in the subway, of always being alone. I would have done anything to make him love me, to make him stay. I did, more or less.)

I will tell him all that. Just not today, when we're in a yellow-painted coffee shop that smells of chocolate chip cookies. When the world is smiling at us.

'And you're famous?' he presses. 'People know who you are. I don't even know your name,' he adds wonderingly.

'Duo. Duo Maxwell.' Shaking hands seems a bit mad at this stage, having done the tongue-shaking pretty thoroughly, so I settle for a silly little wave across the table, and then that seems even crazier. 'And no, I'm nowhere near famous, honestly. I mean, I maybe was, for about thirty seconds five years ago when I did this big Armani campaign.'

That had been pretty much the highlight of my career, such as it was. Two weeks in Italy, staying in super-swish hotels, wearing the most divine clothes ever, and having an actual assistant to tend to my every whim. And Solo'd been over the moon, thinking this was it. That we'd hit the big time, finally.

Except it hadn't really happened. To be brutally honest, my whole modelling career had been a bit of a fluky miracle. A total flash in the pan. I wasn't tall enough; I wasn't classically handsome; my colouring was all wrong for an industry that generally went for very blond or very dark. I'd just happened to hit a wave of demand for something a bit _different_ , a step away from the cookie-cutter good looks that graced most glossy magazine covers. It had helped that most people, from the CEOs and designers at the top of the food chain, had liked me, liked working with me. Liked that I was larky and undemanding and easygoing and never complained. I got a lot of repeat business.

Probably hadn't hurt that Solo, especially in the beginning, had essentially pimped me out to people

he thought might be well-placed to give my career a boost. (People, plural, on one awful, awful occasion.)

Heero gives me another of those uncertain glances, as if I'm some sort of exotic alien life form that's popped up on his plate. He's still siting down, but it doesn't look like it'd take much for him to bolt. Rats. He hadn't seemed like the sort of guy who'd be into all that wannabee celebrity stuff, so maybe he's just writing me off as this shallow model guy who's not remotely his type. And, oh, I want to be.

'I never said,' he says eventually, after a long pause when I'm honestly starting to think he's going to leave and write this whole thing off as a surreal adventure. 'My name's Heero.'

'I know.' I say it without thinking and then clap my hand over my mouth. Oh, fizz it, Duo, you fluffhead.

'Is this... more of that _not_ stalking you mentioned?' he asks steadily, carefully enunciating every word. He is holding his cup with one hand, the knuckles showing white, and it suddenly hits me that he's as nervous as I am. He's just way better at hiding it.

'No, no! I, um, it's just my friend Devon sort of knows a friend of yours. Trowa, right?' I say it as airily as I possibly can, as if it was just a little snippet that had happened to come up in conversation. Not like I'd spent days calling everyone I knew to try to find out who exactly he was.

He gives me a slightly wary nod at that, and then we both stop talking for a minute, gathering thoughts and sipping hot chocolate. Heero carefully selects the biggest of the cookies and slides it over to me.

He's _kind_ , I think dimly. I hadn't quite put it into words before, but I'd seen it. I'd watched him with his poor, heart-broken friend, so focused on just listening to him, and hadn't been able to help wondering what it would have felt like to have had someone like that in my corner, after Solo. I'd seen him holding that tiny little pup, like it was the most precious thing in the universe, laughing as it tried to nip his fingers.

'I have a dog.' I say out of the blue, and take out my phone, showing him a photo. 'Smoky. He's an Australian Shepherd. A blue merle.'

'He's lovely.'

'Yeah.' After Hilde, he's the person/living creature I love most in the universe. 'He's amazing. Lots of fun. Tonnes of energy too. You like dogs, right? We could maybe go for a walk or something, the two of us. Three, with Smoky. Would you like that?'

It's a fairly relaxed suggestion, and he starts to settle back into his seat properly. I think the whole modelling-been-on-TV thing sort of threw him for a loop. But now I'm apparently just a guy with a dog, who's spilling cookie crumbs all over himself.

'Great,' I enthuse. 'Heero, can I ask you one question? I told you why I asked you for a drink. Why did you say yes?'

 _I did notice you._

That was what he'd said, very quietly, after the kiss. The diamond-spangled, cloud-flavoured kiss. (God, I wanted him to kiss me again.) And yeah, I'm kinda sorta fishing for compliments here. But I've found out quite a few things about Mr. Heero Yuy over the past few weeks. Enough to know that he's not into the clubbing scene, doesn't seem to be into dating, and that even if he was into the whole dating thing, I'm highly unlikely to be the sort he'd go for. That he'd want some educated intellectual like Wufei. Quiet and a bit reserved; the sort of person who'd fit harmoniously into his no-doubt orderly, organised life.

Nothing like me.

If I'd asked him to dance, to buy me a drink, to take me outside and fuck me against a wall, that night in the club, I doubt if he would have given me a second glance, except to make it one of those glares, and run off as fast as he could. But here we were in a cosy little tea-room, with daffodils on the table and patchwork cushions on the chair.

We'd kissed.

He put one hand on the table, palm up, and I slid mine into it, not quite letting myself breathe as he folded his fingers around mine.

'I said yes,' he says slowly, as if he's either thinking it through, or else he's a bit nervous about saying it, 'because you are the most dazzling person I've ever met. And because I really wanted to kiss you.'

'And you did.'

'Hn.'

'I might let you do it again, sometime,' I tease gently. 'Maybe.'

'Only maybe?' he teases back. 'I'm a statistician.' (Gulp. I have no idea what that is.) 'I'm not sure if I like those odds.'

'Definitely then,' I say in a rush. 'Is that better?'

'Better, yes.' He's still holding my left hand, very gently, the pad of his thumb brushing little caresses against my wrist. It's sweet. Intimate.

'Is this all right, Duo?' he asks, the first time he's said my name.

I'm not quite sure what he means. The touching in public, just the touching, the fact that we seem to be having some sort of unspoken connection, but I nod to all of it, with him stroking me like he's touching a butterfly wing, a daydream, a cloud.

No one's ever done that before; OK, maybe as a little bit of foreplay, but only as a prelude to getting down to business properly. Heero looks like he's happy just touching that little square of skin, and I have to resist the urge to tug my sleeve down further, because people either freak out when they see the scars, or start asking questions.

There are sunbeams filtering through the lace curtains on the window beside us, landing happily on the table, and one playing in Heero's dark hair. He's gorgeous, I think dizzily. I have a pretty addictive personality, and I'm already addicted to the feel of his fingers on my wrist, just that one tiny point of contact. That rare little smile. I really want to see him smile properly, to make him laugh. He's gorgeous, and kind, and smart, and he thinks I'm _dazzling_. (Yeah, I'm preening a bit over that, running it over in my head.) Even the waitress in the corner, who keeps shooting us – well, Heero – filthy looks can't spoil this.

Then he gives me a sudden grin; an expression I haven't seen yet. 'You've actually been quiet for nearly five minutes. Are you all right?'

'Yes! Fine! Oh, do you want me to say something? I could say stuff.'

That does make him laugh; a surprisingly throaty, rich chuckle. Oh. I want him to do that again. Ideally when naked. He tries to pull his hand back, but I'm stronger than people think and I close my fingers around his. No way am I letting him go any time soon. That gets another laugh, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing one loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then slides down to cup my chin, tilting my head back slightly to look at him. Another laugh, slightly different this time, when I slide my tongue out and swipe it against one finger.

'Duo.'

There's a note in his voice that gets my full attention, and I look at him uncertainly, not sure if he's admonishing me for doing that in public, although it sort of pales beside that the fact that we've already kissed, and we've been holding hands for however long.

'Don't do that here. Please. I only – have so much self-control.'

'Oh!' I say, delighted with myself. Lift off! OK, not that it wasn't pretty damn obvious that he was attracted, but – it's still nice to have verbal confirmation. 'Oopsies. Sorry,' I murmur, beaming at him. Heero, haloed by sunbeams, smiling.

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not,' I grin, all mischievous-minxy. 'Not remotely. So, am I having a bad effect on your self-control?'

'You know very well that you are.'

'Yep!'

Our lovely little moment is interrupted by the evil hell-waitress, who chooses that very second to come stamping over and clatter our empty cups onto her tray.

'Shall we go?' Heero asks, and I nod, letting him pull me to my feet. 'Where now?'

I just shrug. I don't really care where we go.

'Lunch first?' he suggests. 'And then maybe we could get your dog and take a walk on the beach? Would you like that?'

'And, ah, maybe dinner later?' I press, just wanting to know that I'll be getting to spend the day with him.

'Dinner, hm, yes,' he says a little distractedly. We're outside by then, blinking in the bright sunlight, hands still linked, and then he kisses me again.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Many thanks, as always, to the amazing Kaeru Shisho, for editing and support, and to everyone who was kind enough to review the first chapter.

Fourth Date (Sort of (According to Heero)):

To bring an overnight bag or not, that is the million-dollar question. With any other guy, it would be a given. My boyfriend of three weeks, and seven (though only four according to him) dates, has invited me to his house for dinner. With any other guy on the planet, I'd know exactly what would be on the menu for the night, and no, it definitely wouldn't be food.

With Heero... I honestly don't know. Dinner could mean just that.

Fizz it. I'd even packed a little bag. (Very nice. Yves St Laurent overnight case.) And then I started to wonder if it looked a bit presumptuous. Duo the sex maniac, wanting to jump on him. I'm quite certain that he wants to jump on me at some point, but so far, he seems happy enough to do the dating thing. And lots of kissing. I'm not complaining, but...

But.

Even a little more would be nice.

'What do you think I should do?' I ask my bedroom at large. The case ignores me. Smokey heaves a deep sigh and sinks his head on his paws.

'Oh, it's so easy for you,' I grouch. His little bag is already packed, with some food, and a bone and a couple of toys because I'm not sure how dog-friendly Heero's house will be. Hmm. It was lovely of Heero to ask him along, but I can't decide if it's just because he thinks Smokey will enjoy an afternoon in the country, or if he means me to stay the night, since I won't have to go home to look after my dog.

And yes, I do realise what an idiot I'm being, thank you very much, obsessing over something that really isn't very important. I just don't want him thinking that I'm trying to cadge an invitation to stay over, or move in, or that I'm a really forward person. But if he did mean for me to stay over, will he think I'm weird if I don't even have a toothbrush with me?

Oh, the pressure.

I could just _ask_ him, of course. If I could figure out a way to do it without coming across as a skank who's only after the one thing.

I let myself fall back on the bed, pillowing my head on Smokey's back.

Stop overthinking everything, Duo, you fluffhead, I order myself. He'd just said dinner. Not dinner followed by wild sex for dessert. I'd quite like the wild sex, actually. If it was on offer.

Right. No bag, I resolve firmly. I pull myself up off the bed, straightening my clothes. I look good anyway. Off-white, slouchy linen pants and a dark blue cotton sweater. A bit more casually preppy than I'd usually go for, but perfect for a lazy, sunny afternoon. And I know Heero likes blue. I faff around a little bit for a few minutes, and then decide just to go down and wait for him, and of course he pulls up outside exactly on time.

Smokey's only been in Heero's car twice before, but he leaps into the back as if he's been doing it his whole life, curling up on the blanket Heero's put there for him, as I slide into the front. It's silly but I love the fact that the passenger seat is still the way I left it two nights ago, in a slightly reclining position, and the radio is set to the station I'd chosen. It's like I'm getting into my own car.

'Hey, cookie!' I let my hand brush his arm as I click my seatbelt closed, and slant him a demure little smile, watching his eyes darken, knowing exactly what he's thinking. Exactly what I am - the memory of _why_ my seat got tilted back in the first place; most of the time, Heero does a pretty good impersonation of a Vulcan, all cool, analytic logic and no pesky human needs or emotions, but every so often there's a seismic shift under his skin, followed by all kinds of tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. 'How was work? Did you do lots of amazing statistic-y things?' (I really have to find out exactly what he does.)

'Absolutely,' he tells me solemnly. 'Did you do lots of amazing things with words?'

'Yep,' I say proudly. 'I killed off an utterly obnoxious fashion designer using kitchen appliances, and then I celebrated by writing some really kinky sex.'

' _Really_ kinky?' He lifts an eyebrow.

'Whipped cream and everything,' I assure him.

'Ah. Food sex.' He says it so neutrally I can't work out whether he might be keen on the idea or not.

'Food sex,' I agree.

For two people who really don't have a lot in common, we actually always have lots to talk about. (Well, we do now, but the first few times we met, we could barely string coherent sentences together. I wittered on about anything that came into my head and he mainly just stared at me, as if I might vanish at any second, and he wanted to memorise everything about me.) I tell him exactly how the murder was carried out, and he, being a far more detail-oriented person, asks about a couple of things I hadn't even thought of, and I realise I may have to do a little re-writing. He tells me about how he found a glitch in some new computer programme, and complains about his boss who'd missed it, and I make him laugh by inventing some messily gruesome ways to kill the guy off. (I'm thinking my next book might end up being set in a bank.)

It's lovely. Perfect. The two of us driving through a hazy golden afternoon. Heero sticks to the coast road for the first thirty minutes, and then pulls inland.

'I didn't realise you lived so far out of the city.'

'Nearly there,' he promises, taking a right off the main road. 'Just another ten minutes or so.'

I've been dying to see his house, and it's nothing like I'd imagined. I thought he'd go for something modern, but it's like an old farmhouse and it's gorgeous; pale gold stone that gleams warmly in the late afternoon sunlight.

'Oh. Wow!'

'You like it?' he asks, giving me a pleased little smile.

I nod enthusiastically. 'I love it!' It's amazing actually; not just the house, but the whole setting. Fields leading down to a forest, and the glimmer of the sea in the distance. There's even a horse and a donkey in the field closest to the house, and they raise their heads as the car stops.

'They're yours?'

'Yes. Want to meet them?'

'Sure. I didn't realise you had pets.'

I slip on Smokey's leash, and the three of us stroll over to the gate; five of us, really, as the horse and donkey amble over to meet us. The horse is fairytale-lovely, pure white, and the donkey's like a fluffy teddy.

'What are they called?'

'Duo Maxwell, this is Gundam Wing Zero.' Heero introduces us formally, reaching out to pat the horse's neck. 'Gunny for short. He's nearly twenty-eight, and I've had him since I was sixteen. And this lady is Doris; Trowa got her for me a few years ago, so Gunny would have a companion. Horses don't like being alone.'

'Twenty-eight, wow! He's older than me.' I hadn't realised horses lived that long, but then I know absolutely zilch about them. That could be young in horse years for all I know. 'Can you still ride him?'

'Not really. I take him around the property sometimes, just because he likes getting out, but he's pretty much retired. He's very gentle, if you want to pet him.'

'Oh. OK.' I've never touched a horse – never any animal that's not a dog or a cat - but I carefully loop Smokey's leash around the fencepost, and tentatively stretch out one hand. Heero shows me how horses like being scratched and then Doris makes a weird donkey sound and shoves in under Gunny's neck to get her share of the attention. 'She's adorbs! I love that you just keep them as pets. Have you had Gunny for long?'

'He was my sixteenth birthday present from Jay, actually.'

'Nice present,' I comment.

'Very nice, yes. I think Trowa suggested it, it was the only time he ever seemed to know about me having a birthday.'

I'm not sure what to say to that. I haven't met Professor Jay yet, but I don't like the little things Heero's let slip about him. He sounds like the original mad scientist. I never had birthdays growing up either, but then I hadn't had a guardian who was supposed to take care of me.

'Shall we go in?' Heero asks, as Doris and Gunny wander off down their field, with Smokey looking after them wistfully.

I nod, and he leads me around the side. It's fabulous; to the front, there's the facade of the old house, but at the back, there's a massive extension that's pretty much all windows. He must be absolutely loaded to have a place like this, I reflect. I'd guessed he had a fairly well-paid job, but this is amazing.

It's equally fabby inside; all the ground floor seems to be taken up by a massive open-plan kitchen / living room with two walls that are floor to ceiling glass, looking out over the valley. The other two walls are painted dark blue (I'm perfectly colour co-ordinated – I hope he doesn't lose me!) and dark grey slate surfaces.

'Did you design this? Or get a decorator or something?'

'I had an architect to help me plan the basic layout, but I did most of the interiors. Wufei helped with the colours, he's really good at that sort of thing. Do you like it?'

'Totally! I'd love a kitchen like this!'

'You like cooking?'

He sounds a bit surprised, which I suppose isn't all that surprising. I've told him that I've had some food-related issues in the past. Plus, I possibly don't come across as the most domesticated person ever.

'I love it. This room's _amazing_ , Heero. I'm just a bit worried that I might blend in with the walls too well, and you wouldn't be able to find me.'

'I don't think there's any danger of that. Even if I can't see you, I'm sure I'll be able to hear you,' he teases, and then pulls me in for a kiss that he maybe doesn't mean to be quite so thorough as it ends up being. We end up with me pressed against the table, and him pressed against me, with that look on his face that he gets sometimes, like some magical thing's just happened to him.

'Oh, I honestly love it.' I smile up at him dreamily, hoping it's obvious I'm not just talking about his taste in interior decorations, and that flows naturally into more kissing that's interrupted only by Smokey whining and scraping at my leg, bored. He's not used to having to compete with anyone like this; in the two years since I've had him, I have been out with a few guys, but no one I ever introduced him to.

Heero gives me a pleased little grin when I tell him this, bending down to ruffle Smokey's ears. 'I'm honoured then! I'll just go upstairs and get changed. You can look around a bit if you like.'

'Definitely!'

I spend the next ten minutes exploring, not just Heero's living room, but his taste in colours, in furniture; his hobbies. I know he plays the guitar, and that he like reading, especially classic sci-fi novels, and sure enough he has a whole wall covered in book-shelves (although a rather distressing number of them seem to be about numbers) but he also has a piano, a pair of binoculars by the window sitting on a stack of books about birds. There's a massive TV and tonnes of old Japanese horror movies and straightaway my mind is having this lovely little fantasy of the two of us curled up on one of his massive couches, watching a film together and eating popcorn with Smokey lying at our feet and a Christmas tree in the corner – whoa, where did that come from?

I've only only known Heero a few weeks. Isn't it a bit early to be planning our first Christmas?

Luckily, he comes back downstairs at that point and the sweater he's wearing (I swear, it's the colour of mustard, and I'd bet my braid that that he it's made from some horrid synthetic fabric) is pretty much enough to kill off any fantasies. I have _got_ to find his bedroom at some point this evening, and accidentally destroy every single item in his wardrobe. (Well, _possibly_ not those spandex shorts he wears for exercising. I quite like those.)

'Shall we go outside for a bit, and let Smokey run around?' he suggests, happily unaware that I'm planning sartorial genocide. 'We could have a drink on the terrace before sunset.'

'I'd like that.' I pull myself up onto one of the stools, and watch him taking out plates and cutlery. 'No one's ever made dinner for me before.'

'Truly? I thought you'd have people lining up to take you out.'

'Oh, going out, yeah,' I acknowledge. 'But you're the first person who's ever actually cooked for me.'

That gets me a quick kiss in passing as he crosses the room. 'Don't get too excited about it. It's nothing much, just tuna steaks and salad.'

'It sounds great. Is there anything I can do to help?'

'It's fine. Everything's done, more or less. I just need to grill the fish, but I can do that on the barbecue outside when we're ready to eat. Maybe you could get me a glass of wine, and whatever you want for yourself? Glasses in the cupboard there.'

'Sure.' I take out the half-full bottle of New Zealand Pinot Grigio for him, and select organic apple juice for myself, wondering if he always has such a selection of juices or cordials, or if he got them specially for me. He takes out some little cartons of nuts and olives, and we settle on the terrace.

He grins at me over the brimming glass I hand him. 'Are you trying to get me drunk?'

'Just enough so you won't be able to drive me home,' I tell him frankly.

When he stops laughing, he leans over and kisses me. 'Duo, just so you know, I have absolutely no intention of driving you home. I thought I made that clear when I asked you over. Or was I too subtle?'

'I don't do subtle, just for the record. You'll pretty much need to hit me over the head.'

He taps my head, very gently. 'I'd love you to stay over. If that's what you'd like?'

'Oh, I would! I just wasn't sure if bed and breakfast were part of the deal for tonight. Now, I won't have to carry out my nefarious plans to sabotage your car, or get you sloshed.'

'No nefariousness of any sort needed,' he tells me, laughing quietly. 'That's.. ..all right with you, isn't it?' he asks quietly. 'I don't want to feel that I'm rushing you or anything, and we haven't known each other that long.'

Huh. Talk about crossed wires. Here's the thing. I've sort of got the impression that Heero hasn't had a tonne of experience with the whole relationship thing, although he's obviously got _some._ He's very much the type of person who likes being in control, so I've been leaving it up to him to set the pace. And apparently he's been leaving it to me.

'No! No rushing.' I say hastily. 'It's fine. It's great. I want to stay. Honest. You are totally not rushing me,' I repeat, just in case he didn't get it the first time. 'And, anyway, this is the seventh date. It's perfectly proper for us to spend the night together.'

'Fourth,' he contradicts.

I wrinkle my nose at him. 'For someone who works in a bank, you're not very good at counting,' I say loftily. 'It's seven.'

He holds up one finger. 'The first time: definitely not a date. That was you picking me up.'

'And then I asked you to come and have a drink with me and you said yes and then we kissed. How exactly is that not a date?' I clink my glass against his, grinning. 'First time I ever picked anyone up in a bookshop!'

'You did it very well, for a beginner,' he teases. 'Very smooth.'

'More than I can say for you,' I retort, settling back in my chair, and nudging Smokey away a little bit. It was cute when he was a pup, having him curl up on my feet, but not so much now that he's fully grown, especially on a hot day. 'You were determined not to be picked. Totally oblivious. Very bad for my self-esteem, Mr. Yuy.'

'Not in the least oblivious,' he corrects at once. 'Just... not believing you could be remotely interested in me. I...still can't, sometimes.'

'Seriously?' We have talked a bit about this before, and he's implied was how he'd felt, but...wow. He's perfect. He's successful and smart, and super-rich, judging by this place, and utterly stunning, and a shiningly decent, _good_ person. How in the world can he not have thought I'd be into him? Anyone would be.

'Well, I _was_ interested,' I promise him. 'Still am, and, FYI, that first time _was_ a date.'

It's not the first time we've had this conversation; we both have very different ideas on what a date consists of. Once upon a time, it would have meant sex for me, but now it's pretty much any time we've been together (except that evening when we had dinner with his two best friends; that totally didn't count. We do agree on that one not being a date.) like the first time, or the morning when I just happened to run into him and his friend Relena at the supermarket and went for coffee after.

For him, it has to be a more formal, planned-in-advance arrangement where he collects me from home and takes me somewhere, ideally a place where he's already made reservations.

'Was it now?' he asks idly, setting down his wine glass, and sliding his chair closer to mine. I'm pretty sure the whole date-or-no-date conversation is about to be forgotten, and then Smokey leaps up with a volley of loud barks, and Trowa Barton walks around the corner of the house, accompanied by a grouchy-looking brown and white bulldog.

Shizzle. If it had to be one of his friends, why couldn't it have been Wufei? Or that nice girl Relena? I don't think I like Trowa that much, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me either. I think there might be a tiny bit of resentment on my part there too; the first time I ever saw Heero, he was accompanied by both of Trowa and Florence, and I'd just assumed they were a couple, accessorised with the obligatory unusual breed of dog.

'Hey,' he nods at both of us, not exactly looking over the moon to see me ensconced at the table, and hands Heero a cardboard box. 'I didn't think anyone would be home. Did you actually leave work at a normal time?'

Heero makes a face at him, and I have a sudden vision of them as little kids. Cute. 'Duo and I had plans.'

'And Duo apparently has magical powers.' Trowa comments, handing him a small cardboard box. 'Here. You said at the weekend that you were running out of vitamin supplements for Doris; I was taking Flo for a drive and I thought I'd just leave them here.'

'Thanks, Tro.' Heero bends down to pat the bulldog, which pants up at him, and looks very marginally less grumpy. 'Can I get you a drink? A beer?'

Oh, please. Why not just ask him to stay for dinner while you're at it? This, even by Heero's stringent standards, is an Official Date, with all the boxes ticked for Official Datedom. Do we _really_ need a third wheel? (Obvious answer: resounding no.) Trowa quite correctly refuses the first time, but then he nods when Heero presses him, asking for a beer. Heero takes off back inside to get it, and then it's just me and Trowa and the dogs.

Joy. It's hard to tell whether Trowa or his scary-looking dog is least impressed by me. I remind myself firmly that I'm an outgoing, likeable, people person who can charm the socks off anyone if I put my mind to it, and give Trowa a winning smile.

'I forgot you had a dog. What's his name?'

'Her. Florence.'

'Oh. That's different.' I reach out a hand, and the dog curls her lip at me, just as Trowa shakes his head. 'Don't touch her, Duo. She's not very good with people she doesn't know.'

Like her owner then, I think sourly.

'She was a rescue dog,' he adds, in a slightly warmer tone. 'She was abused by her last owner, and she doesn't really trust strangers.'

'Poor thing. That's so sad.' I take a hold of Smokey's collar, since he's looking interested in the new dog, and then fling the ball, and he takes off like an arrow after it. 'He was a rescue dog too,' I comment, just for something to say. 'In the shelter, they told me that some idiots got him because they saw a puppy on some TV show, and thought it was cute. Never thought he'd be more than a cuddly toy to play with when they wanted to. I got him when he was nearly three months old, and he'd never been for a proper walk, never got to play outside properly. He's really having fun here,' I add, sitting back down and picking up my glass. 'I live in an apartment, and he misses having a garden.'

'They're not exactly an ideal breed for living in an apartment, are they?' He says it fairly neutrally, but it's clearly a criticism of the stupid, flitter-brained idiot who got a big dog and doesn't have enough space for him to run around.

'I wasn't living there when I got him,' I tell him sharply. 'I had a house then, with a big garden.' Even though it's been almost two years, and I have a very nice apartment these days, it still hurts when I think of my beloved beach house, my dream house. If I told Trowa that we'd both been homeless and lived out of my car for weeks at one point, he'd probably report me for animal cruelty. 'And he gets plenty of exercise.'

'He does look very fit,' Trowa concedes, bending down to Smokey as he runs past, and my wonderful, _fabulous_ dog totally blanks him, walking straight past to collapse on my feet.

'We do agility training,' I say, bending down to rub Smokey's belly, and hide my surprise that I think Trowa Barton's sort of complimented me on my dog-care. Who'd have thought? When I straighten back up, he's unabashedly gawking at me. It's an expression I've got used to seeing on Heero's friends, like they can't quite figure me out, and they definitely can't figure out me and Heero being together. 'What?' I demand, and he just shrugs, and directs his gaze out over the fields.

'Lovely day, isn't it?' I say finally, inanely, just because the silence is getting a bit too oppressive for me. ( _Seriously_ , Duo? Talking about the _weather_? How sad is that?) Heero's hands-down the quietest person I've ever met, but he does speak _sometimes_ , and I'm pretty good at filling silences anyway. It's different anyway: I know he likes me. Speaking of Heero, what the blazes is he doing inside? Brewing the beer himself?

Trowa's one of Heero's closest friends; I should make more of an effort with him. I'm just quite clearly not the sort of person he thinks Heero should be with; some professional with a steady job, and a good background, and degrees coming out of his ass. Someone who's the very opposite of me. Still, I suppose he's just being a bit on the protective side, and I can't really blame him for any of that. In his place, I probably wouldn't want Heero dating me either.

We'd first met the previous week, on what Heero and I both totally agree wasn't an Official Date, but he'd wanted me to meet his friends. It says something the trainwreck that my life used to be that the evening didn't even make it into my list of Top Ten Disastrous Nights Out (no Russian prostitutes, hard drugs, knives, or bruises afterwards) but it was definitely in the top twenty. Wufei had saved it, pretty much single-handedly. Heero and I were still at the point where we weren't exactly articulate around each other, and Trowa apparently hadn't been able to make up him mind whether he wanted to spend the meal glaring at me, for having the gall to be dating his friend, or just staring, so I'd spent the whole evening with the two of them gazing fixedly at me.

Wufei had been a bit guarded, but he'd made a huge effort to be friendly and welcoming, and we'd spent most of the evening talking to each other, and he'd sounded genuine when he'd said he hoped to see me again soon.

Oh, Heero, please come and save me, I think desperately. I'm no good at silence; I can do it with Heero sometimes, but that's totally different. Not like this disapproving person, who's probably Googled me and didn't like any of what he found. I end up babbling about who-knows-what until my darling boyfriend finally – _finally_ – comes back out.

'Did you go all the way to the Czech Republic to get that?' Trowa asks, grinning at him as he takes the glass of beer. He looks totally different when he smiles.

'Sorry,' Heero sits down and smiles at me, before looking over at Trowa. 'Wufei called when I was inside.'

'Oh?' Trowa glances up. 'Everything OK? Not another email?'

Heero just shrugs; I have a feeling that if I wasn't there, they'd be talking about whatever's clearly wrong. He's never said anything specifically, but he's let slip a couple of bits and pieces, and my friend Devon, who knows them all (he had a bit of a fling with Trowa once) has filled me in on a couple of other things. I know Wufei's recently broken up with someone, that it was a pretty awful break-up, and I think the ex-guy is maybe putting some sort of pressure on him.

I know there was some sort of issue the previous week. I only know that much because Heero had cancelled dinner with me at the last minute, and he'd obviously felt he had to give some sort of reasonable excuse. I think he'd half-expected me to throw a hissy fit over it, and to be honest, I might have with anyone else, but I liked that he wanted to be there for his friend.

Heero and Trowa do a sort of silent exchange of grim looks, and I'm about to excuse myself to go to the bathroom or something to let them talk, when Heero speaks. 'He didn't sound too bad, actually. Sally's turned down his resignation again ( _Who? What?_ ) but he sounded fairly calm about it. He wanted to know if we're interested in tickets for an exhibition next week. It's a history of firearms; apparently they've got some blunderbusses on loan from a museum in London and a collection of 18th Century duelling pistols. Would either of you be interested?'

I nod enthusiastically; I'd more or less go anywhere he suggested. (No, be honest, Duo. You'd go literally anywhere. I'm totally sunk.) Actually, I have no idea what a blunderbuss is, but I can look it up. When I find out how to spell it.

'Yeah, sure. 'Fei was talking about it last week. Sounds pretty interesting.' Trowa drains half his beer in one gulp, pauses and then knocks the other half back for good measure.

'Are you all right?' Heero asks.

'Yeah. No.' He puts the glass down heavily enough that both dogs jump, and then sighs. 'I had to put down a Shetland pony this morning; a little girl's pet. Some bastards opened the gate of her field, and she got on the motorway. I fucking hate people, you know that?'

'That's awful, Trowa,' I breathe, and suddenly feel guilty for how I've been thinking about him. He'd just been having a really, really bad day, and he'd probably wanted to have a private chat with Heero, and then he'd had to put up with me blathering about whatever nonsense came into my head.

'It is.' He actually graces me with a slight smile, as he stands up to go. 'Heero, thanks for the drink. I'll leave you guys; sorry for barging in like that. Duo, I'll see you next week, yeah? 'Fei and I will probably go for something to eat first; if that workaholic you're dating is working late as usual, you can come with us if you like. '

'That'd be good,' I say, gobsmacked. Maybe he doesn't dislike me all that much after all. 'You could stay for dinner,' I blurt. 'If you liked. I'm sure we've got loads.'

Trowa gives me his first real smile ever. 'Thanks. But I think your boyfriend would poison me if I accepted. I think this is the first time he's ever left work early in his life, so he probably wouldn't appreciate me hanging around.'

'You know you can stay if you want,' Heero assures him.

'I know, yeah.'

Heero stands up and walks him around the corner; while they're gone. Smokey follows them for a few paces, then turns back and looks at me, whining uncertainly. It's an Aussie Shepherd thing; they hate the members of their flock not being all together where they're easy to watch.

'I know,' I say quietly. 'He'll be back in a sec. ' I throw his ball a few more times, and try to process what's happened. Maybe Trowa doesn't hate me; maybe I was just being a bit over-sensitive. I look up at the sound of Heero's footsteps coming back. He throws the ball Smokey dashes over to drop in front of him, and then pulls me into his arms.

There are times when I want to send tulips and a muffin basket to whoever taught Heero to kiss. (And I have some pretty definite ideas of who it might have been.) Of course, there are other times when I want to kill him; I don't like the idea of anyone but me touching Heero, my Heero.

'Wow. What was that for?'

'You. That was nice of you asking Trowa to stay, but I'm very glad he didn't.'

'Yeah. Me too.' I lean up and press my lips against his jaw, slowly brushing kisses against his skin. 'I just felt sorry for him. I mean, he'd obviously had the day from hell. You know, I didn't think he liked me, actually.'

' _What_? Duo, he'd run away with you if he could; he thinks you're incredible. Why in the world wouldn't he like you anyway?'

Whoa, rewind. Trowa thinks I'm incredible? What the fizzle? I come out with the first thing that comes into my head. 'Well, you know, I'm _me_.'

'I know that, yes.' Heero looks at me, clearly puzzled. 'I very much like that you're you. Why would that be a problem?'

' _Heero,'_ I snap at him, frustrated. 'I told you about me.' I'd told him in one massive info-dump on our third date, in a do-or-die spirit of getting it over with, and seeing how he reacted. If he was going to take it hard, better to end it before either of us got in too deep. Deeper, for me. I wasn't proud of a lot of the things I'd done, but some of them had been for basic survival, and some of them had been because I'd been a stupidly-infatuated idiot who'd believed anything that Solo had told me.

I'd ended up telling him pretty much everything about me. In retrospect, I'd felt just a bit sorry for him. We'd had dinner in an amazing Thai place, and he'd suggested going for a walk around the harbour. He'd probably expected more easy conversation and a bit of discreet making out and instead he'd got most of my life story, while he held me and stroked my hair; even about Sister Helen and the gang of kids I'd lived with before the Maxwell Orphanage.

'Duo.' He sits down, pulling me on top of him, and gives my braid a little tug. 'How would Trowa know any of that? And it's none of his business anyway.'

'There's this thing called the internet,' I tell him, gritting my teeth. 'There's all kinds of stupid sites about celebrity gossip. There's quite a lot of stuff about me. People I've been with.'

Not that I'd ever been much of a celebrity, but I'd dated a few guys who were pretty A-list; I'd been to some crazy parties and there's some stuff out there I'm really not proud of. And I definitely hate the thought of Heero seeing any of it.

'I don't think Trowa's ever looked up any of those sites in his life. He's not interested in that sort of thing. The only thing he'd care about is if you were unkind to an animal!' There's a note in his voice I'm not quite sure about. I don't know Trowa at all, but I'm starting to know Heero. He's into doing research. And I'm suddenly certain that he's looked me up.

'You're right,' I say slowly. 'It's not really anyone else's business, is it? But it is yours. You've been reading about me, right?'

'Oh.' He actually blushes, just a little bit. 'The first time we met, that waitress, she mentioned a picture of you. A black and white one. I looked it up.'

'Um. OK. And?'

'I still can't believe you,' he says in a sudden rush. 'That you're real. That you're here. With me. And I think we should eat now.'

He tips me off, very gently, not before I can tell that dinner isn't really his priority right now. Definitely not mine either. And I know him well enough by now to know it wouldn't be too difficult to change his mind, but I know he wants to take things slowly, needs to feel in control, so I just pin on a dainty little smile and offer to help. In any case, I've spent a fair part of my life being hungry, for one reason or another. I make a point of never refusing food.

I'm incredibly touched that he's gone to a lot more trouble than he'd claimed earlier. There are marinated tuna steaks, and vegetable skewers, and six different salads. It's all amazing. We keep the conversation light; our pets; some hiking trails around the house; holidays; books.

'Oh,' he says suddenly. 'I finished the first book, I forgot to tell you.'

'Yeah? What did you think?'

'Well,' he grins, teasing. 'There were rather a lot of inconsistencies in the plot, but it was fun. I liked Connor a lot. Very practical.'

Practical. Huh. Is that the sort of person he likes? I'm possibly the least practical person on the planet. 'You didn't like Gil at all?'

He gives me one of those soft little smiles. 'Of course I did. He's adorable.'

'That's more like it, Yuy,' I say loftily. 'You did get that he's based on me?'

Heero rolls his eyes. 'I did get that, yes. Who's Connor based on?'

'No one, really. He's just someone I imagined.' He'd sort of been the anti-Solo, actually. Someone kind and honest and straightforward.

'I assume they get together at some point?'

'You'll have to buy the next book to find out,' I tease.

'Will I really? I was hoping for a signed copy from the author.'

'The author has a dog to support,' I say soulfully. 'And a wildly expensive clothing habit to maintain.'

'I did notice both of those things. All right, I'll get it tomorrow. It might buy you a button.'

'Only half a button, probably.' I wrinkle my nose. 'Designer clothes aren't cheap. I could probably find a copy at home, if you really wanted.'

'I really want,' Heero says at once, and yeah, he's not just talking about books. That's pretty clear, just from the way he's looking at me.

'I should probably say,' he tells me abruptly, leaning down to slip Smokey a piece of fish. Dogs are so useful when you just need a second's break from a conversation. 'I don't ... have a lot of experience. I don't want you to be disappointed.'

'Heero. You're kidding, right? You basically just have to _look_ at me, and I'm melting into a puddle of goo. There's no way in the universe you could disappoint me.'

'Really?' The look on his face makes me want to wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him for the rest of his life in front of an open fire. Sort of shy and pleased and proud and embarrassed all at once.

'Is it not obvious?'

'I can't believe you're real.'

'I am. You can pinch me if you want,' I offer obligingly.

'That wasn't what I was thinking of.'

'No?'

'Were you thinking about full on nudity and the exchange of bodily fluids? And, just so you know, you're supposed to say yes.'

'Quite possibly.'

'Quite possibly,' I mimic. 'I'm not sure I like those odds, Mr. Statistician.'

'Very definitely.' he adds hastily. 'Absolutely certainly, in fact.'

'Better, Heero,' I approve. ' _Way_ better, actually. And, um, in the interests of full disclosure, it's been quite a while for me too. But I kind of remember there are a couple of parts that are meant to slot into one another. And that sometimes it's fun just getting to the point where you're ready to that. Between the two of us, we could probably, you know, figure it out.'

'Hn. You think?'

I shrug, smiling at him, into his amazing blue eyes. There's desire there, oh yeah, but also humour and concern and just a hint of clouded uncertainty. 'I'm fairly sure, yeah. Want to give it a whirl?'


	3. Third Time's the Charm (Sort of)

Note 1: GW does not belong to me in any way, shape or form.

Note 2: Many, many thanks, as always, to Kaeru Shisho, for editing, enthusiasm, and a certain comment about Heero.

Chapter 3/5- 12 Weeks (and Counting):

'Come _on_ , Duo,' Hilde says impatiently, from outside the fitting room. 'Stop admiring how pretty you are and come out and show me.'

'Coming.' I'm not, in point of fact, admiring myself. I'm drooling over the shirt I have on. It's a thing of utter, sublime beauty; silk in such a deep, luscious plum shade that I'm seriously tempted to stroke or even lick myself. (Hopefully, Heero will feel the same when he sees me. Ideally, he'll act on it.)

'Well?' I step outside and the two assistants start gushing over me, which I totally ignore. I've worked in a clothes shop myself, which is why I know never to believe anything I'm told by someone who's getting commission out of what I buy.

Hilde gives me a nod of approval. 'Oh. That's very you. You have to get it, definitely. What about the lilac one?'

'I wasn't crazy about it,' I say honestly, and immediately both assistants leap into action, faces falling at the thought of losing a lucrative sale, claiming that the thing practically conferred super powers. It was certainly super-expensive, even by my extravagant standards.

'He's just said he doesn't want it,' my best friend says briskly. 'Didn't you hear him?' (Hilde very rarely feels constrained by the need to be polite.) 'Right. Is that it, Duo? Brunch?'

'Just let me get changed. Two seconds.' Actually, there is one other thing I need to do before we leave. On the way to the till, I snag a pale blue Ralph Lauren shirt I'd noticed earlier.

Hilde gives me a questioning glance. 'That's not a colour you usually go for. And don't you want to try it on first?'

'It's not for me,' I hand my credit card over to one of the assistants, both of whom are smiling radiantly at me again. (The blue shirt is exorbitantly priced.) 'I wanted to get something nice for Heero. He's been spending a lot of time helping me with my new book. He's more or less made up the whole plot.'

It's also Phase One in my masterplan of getting him some half-decent clothes to wear, since I've given up the idea of burning everything he currently owns. I couldn't think of a way to make that look like an accident, short of setting his lovely house on fire. Instead, I'll slowly replace all the hideous synthetic monstrosities by stealth.

 _And_ today also happens to be our twelve-week anniversary.

'Oh, _Heero_.' Her mouth twists sourly. 'Of course. I suppose that's the reason I've hardly seen you in the last month. It was bad enough when you were just stalking him And yeah, sure, you've been _writing_ with him. Not anything else.'

'Be fair, Hils,' I say reasonably, accepting the shiny, stiff carrier bags and smiling at the assistant who gives them to me. After all, it's not his fault that he presumably needs to make money somehow. 'I _have_ been working; you know what I'm like when I'm starting a new book, I just lock myself away and write.' True, the only difference is that this time I've been locking Heero away with me for a lot of the time. He's always saying research is important, so he can't really complain if I need him to go over a lot of stuff very thoroughly. And to try out the sex scenes with me. Purely for the sake of realism. 'Plus, you've been away for the past couple of weeks anyway.' (She's a fashion photographer and travels a lot.)

'Yeah, whatever,' she mutters.

Shizzle. I like Heero's friends, and most of them seem to like me; unfortunately, she and Heero haven't taken to each other at all. Heero hasn't actually said anything, but it's pretty obvious. Hilde's been a lot more vocal. (We didn't talk for a couple of days after she'd called him an emotionally-crippled workaholic. She did apologise.)

Neither of us says much until we're sitting down in the restaurant Hilde's chosen, fiddling with menus and water glasses and parmesan bread sticks. It wouldn't actually kill her to make a bit of an effort, I think glumly. Heero's an amazing person; he's my boyfriend; I'm crazy about him. She could at least try to get to know him a little bit, instead of making faces every time I mention him.

Over the soup, I ask her about the shows she'd been covering in Paris, and some mutual friends, and she lets me see some pictures of droolably gorgeous clothes.

'Oh, that reminds me. I have a proposition for you.'

'Aw, that's sweet,' I grin at her. 'And if I were straight and single, I'd totally be interested.'

'Don't be such a fluffhead, Duo.' She leans over and raps my knuckles with her breadknife. 'It's a modelling job.'

'I'm too old, Hils. You know that.' It's my stock answer.

She rolls her eyes so dramatically I start to feel dizzy. 'You're only twenty-five. That's not old.'

'Yeah, but I'm totally washed up and I was never that great to begin with.'

'God, you're an idiot sometimes. Everyone who ever worked with you adored you, you know that perfectly well. The _only_ fucking reason you didn't make it big-time was that asshole, Solo, and you know that as well. Armani would have totally offered you a contract if he hadn't kept screwing them around, changing the conditions, demanding more money. You _know_ all that.'

'Yeah, whatever. It's over, anyway. And _you_ know that.'

'Just think about it, Duo, please. The guy is an amazing Czech designer I did a show with last month. He wants someone to be the face of his new collection, and he doesn't just want some generic handsome guy. He's seen pictures of you and he's totally in love. I swear, you are going to go crazy over his clothes. They're totally you; a little bit quirky and different. Sort of old-style military with a little bit of steampunk. Just look, OK?'

She shoves her phone in my face, and for a second I'm almost tempted because the clothes are _gorgeous_. And I know they'd look sensational on me. I'm immediately in lust with the item in the first shot; a midnight-blue jacket, and they just get better. I want to buy almost everything, and not just for myself; I can totally see Heero in most of them.

'Well?' She challenges, looking smug.

'Fantabulous clothes, absolutely. But I'm not interested in modelling them. Thanks for thinking of me, though.' I smile at the waiter, who's hovering to refill my water glass.

'It's him, isn't it?' Hilde demands..

I blink at her. 'Who's what? The waiter?'

'Your new _boyfriend,'_ she says scathingly. 'You don't think he'd want you to do something like this.'

'Hillie, it's got nothing to do with how he feels. (Well. Sort of true. He would _hate_ it, I know that.) Come on, hon. I haven't done any serious modelling work for years; I quit way before I knew Heero even existed.'

'You've done a few jobs since then,' she mutters.

'Yeah, for friends a couple of times, or when I really needed the money.' I prop my chin in one hand and gaze at her across the table. I know she means well, that she just wants me to be happy. But I also know that she wants things to go back to the way they used to be, the two of us working together in the same jobs, going out, even though she must know, deep-down, that it's never going to happen. 'I like the way my life is now, honest. I love writing. And I know you don't get Heero, but he's important to me. Really important.'

'You're right, I don't get him,' she agrees, and then holds off while we get our main courses, and the waiter goes thought the ritual of shaking black pepper and parmesan on our pasta dishes. 'I don't understand what you see in the guy,' she states. 'I just can't see you with some nine-to-five office guy.'

'He's not like that!' For one thing, he'd be utterly appalled at anyone suggesting that he wasn't in his office until nine. Or left at the indecently early hour of five. He's more of a five-to-nine guy, really.

She shrugs. 'Whatever. He's not remotely your type, that's all. '

'And what's my type, exactly?' I wonder bitterly. 'Someone like Solo? Someone who'll beat me up when he's pissed with me?'

'Don't, Duo,' she begs. 'You know I didn't mean that. I just think you deserve someone who's fun. Someone who's more outgoing.'

'I happen to think that Heero _is_ fun,' I glare at her. There's not much I can claim about him being outgoing without lying through my teeth. My boyfriend's not the most sociable person in the universe, to put it very, _very_ mildly; he sometimes claims that in an ideal world he'd live on a desert island, with just me and his laptop for company. (I think it's sweet that he'd choose he'd bring me along. Even if I'd hate it.) We still manage to get on perfectly well, the two of us. Or would, if people would stop interfering.

'You're such opposites. I mean, he took you on a date to a museum. A _museum_?' she sniffs. 'Seriously? When have you ever been somewhere like that?'

'I've been to the Louvre.'

'Yeah, so has everyone,' she says dismissively.

'Well, it wasn't really a _date_ date, just some of his friends going out together, and he asked me along. And it was fun, actually.' Much more interesting than I'd expected, to be honest.

'He's your rebound guy.'

'No, actually he's not. My rebound guy was that Italian actor, and that was over a year ago.'

'Oh, Bruno, yeah. He was _gorgeous_. And so much fun! I never got why you two broke up.'

'Possibly his cocaine habit,' I suggest dryly. 'And the fact that he wanted me to take it as well. The point is, I've done the rebound thing. And I haven't exactly been celibate since.'

'Whatever. None of those guys meant anything to you. Duo, seriously, I'm worried about you. You've finally got your life back after that bastard Solo, and the _first_ thing you do is jump into bed with someone just like him.'

'Heero is _nothing_ like him.' I let my fork fall with a clatter, glaring at her.

'He's an older guy who's got definite controlling tendencies. And that's apart from the whole possessive thing.'

'He's only a couple of years older,' I say feebly. Heero, in total honesty, _is_ a bit of a control freak, but that's his way of dealing with the universe. I get it. We both just have different coping mechanisms. The possessive thing is a bit different, and we've had a couple of moderately blazing rows about that, but Hilde doesn't need any more ammunition against him 'And you've met him for all of ten minutes or so. You don't know anything about him!'

'I saw the way he looked at any guy who dared to look in your approximate direction. Plus, the whole thing is happening way too fast; you've only known him a couple of months and you're practically living with him. And you always seem to end up doing whatever he wants. For God's sake, when was the last time you were out clubbing? You used to go out all the time, now you don't seem to do anything but hang out with Heero. Does he _ever_ do anything that you want to do?'

'Of course he does,' I snap, and realise just how defensive I'm sounding. 'Look, Hils. It's not like the way you're putting it. He stays over at my place sometimes, and we do all sorts of stuff together. He even came shopping with me last week.' That's the truth, even if he spent most of the time doing something on his tablet, apart from looking up occasionally to see what I was trying on. He'd even claimed he had enough clothes when I tried pressing him to try something on for himself. (I do sometimes wonder if we have _anything_ in common, I really do. How can anyone _ever_ have enough clothes? It's a total oxymoron.) 'And we're going to a club tonight.' Ahem, that is only sort of true. He is taking me to what sounds like a very nice French restaurant for our anniversary dinner, and I'd mentioned that my friend Scott had given me tickets for a new club that was opening, and he hadn't totally rejected the idea, so maybe we are.

'Whatever you say.' She doesn't sound remotely convinced. 'I just don't want you to get hurt, Duo. OK?'

'Yeah.'

Her eyes are cast down at her empty plate, and she's making a massive effort not to look at my left arm. I know this, because I'm expending the exact same effort not to touch it. She'd was the one who'd found me, after the most ridiculous suicide attempt in the history of mankind. She never entirely believes that I hadn't actually meant it; that I'd just had this crazy idea of making myself sick enough to be admitted to hospital, so Solo would hear about it. Would come back. Thankfully, I'd come to what remained of my senses in time to throw up most of the tablets and whiskey I'd taken, but not 'til I'd tried to saw a chunk out of my wrist, fortunately managing to somehow miss the artery.

'He's nothing like Solo,' I say finally. 'Hils, he's not. He _cooks_ for me.' (It's about the most drastic difference I can think of, offhand, given that Solo had nagged me to throw up if I'd even looked sideways at a carbohydrate.) 'He plays music for me on his piano. (Not the only thing he does for me on his piano, but she doesn't need to know that. Heero's way more adventurous than I'd originally thought.) He reads to me. (Naked, sometimes, in bed. Very hard to concentrate. No pun intended.) He likes me teasing him. (Verbally and in other ways.) He's – just really great. Honest.'

I'm smiling by the time I finish saying – and thinking – all that, and her face does soften a little bit. She even promises to make more of an effort.

After I drop Hilde at her studio, I head back home. I have all kinds of plans – emails to write, a chapter to edit, a list of questions to prepare for Heero about the hierarchal structure in an investment bank – but I can't focus on anything. Deep-down, and I wouldn't ever have admitted it to her, I can't help being just a bit unsettled by some of the things that my BFF has said.

I end up staring at my computer screen for nearly two hours.

I'm not so besotted with Heero that I can't see he has faults. There's the controlling thing, although to be honest, he's never remotely tried forcing me to do anything, and I'm quite good at working around him anyway. I'm _very_ good at getting my own way when I really want to. In any case, I'm extremely easygoing and ridiculously indecisive: it's just as well that one of us is good at taking charge sometimes or we'd never get around to doing anything. I can live with most of his quirks; the obsessive punctuality and the fact that he's a bit OCD is other ways, and inhumanly tidy, and he seems able to put up with me being the total opposite.

OK, he's not perfect. Who is? _I'm_ definitely not.

He always has my favourite foods in his kitchen; even if I just mention a mild liking for something, it magically appears the next time I visit. (And yes, OK, I know just he orders it over the net and has it delivered with his own groceries, but still. He remembers.) He cooks my favourite things. Even better, he lets me loose to play in his magic, glorious kitchen. Heero is a perfectly competent cook, and I think the logic of following a recipe appeals to him, but he doesn't really _enjoy_ it, whereas I love experimenting with different ingredients and flavours.

He has never, not once, tried pressuring me into taking alcohol or drugs or trying out some kinky sex thing. He's spent hours going over the plot of my new book with me, ironing out all sort of little details. He adores my hair. He lets me watch anything I want on his TV. (Mostly. He flatly refuses to watch reality makeover shows, even though he might find them educational) He gets up in the middle of the night to take Smokey out (even when it's raining). He can turn me into melted-chocolate goo with just a touch or a look.

He has never hurt me.

I trust him, absolutely.

Thinking of Heero, I pull out my phone and look at the text he'd sent that morning.

 _Thank you for the wake up call. Much appreciated. HY_.

It's a typical Heero-text; dry and formal and totally impersonal. If Hilde got to see it, I can just see her doing her patented eye roll. The thing is, I can also imagine Heero tapping it out, with that sly little smile he gets sometimes, at a private joke.

For the record, the wake up call he mentions has nothing whatsoever to do with clocks or alarms. Let's just say I sent him off to work having given him a nice little anniversary gift in bed. Off to work almost ten minutes later than usual, which makes it my second-best attempt to date, although not even close to my personal record, which had involved me taking him breakfast in bed, and a lot of whipped cream and maple syrup that never made it anywhere near the pancakes.

He'd ended up calling in sick for the first time ever, and we'd spent the day in bed.

He's _nothing_ like Solo.

There's that unexpected sentimental streak for one thing, wanting to do something special for our anniversary.

Solo and I had never bothered about anything like that. I don't even know what we would have celebrated.

The first time we met? Hardly a romantic occasion to remember. He'd paid me to suck him off in the alley behind a club; a place I'd hung around whenever I needed money badly enough.

The first 'modelling' job he'd found for me? Yeah, right, I think bitterly. It hadn't been modelling at all, but a part in a porn movie. (It's one of the very few things I haven't told Heero.) I'd been fifteen, but able to pass for a bit younger; young enough to appeal to a very specific target market. I'd cried, after, because it had been so awful, and Solo had sworn blind that he'd never make me do anything like that again. (Not true, as it turned out).

The first time he hit me?

Nope, not a whole to celebrate in any of that.

'Come on,' I say to Smokey, jumping up. 'Let's go out for a bit. Clear our heads.' When we get back from a run around the harbour, I'm setting out my clothes for the evening, and faffing around a bit when Heero rings, and I immediately know something's wrong because he never calls just for a casual chat.

'Hi! What's up?'

'I'm afraid I have some issues at work. Would you mind if we went out a little later than we'd planned?'

'No, that's fine,' I say, just happy he's not cancelling. For a self-avowed workaholic, he's really good at sticking to any plans we've made together. On the few occasions he's pulled out, there's been a major problem at his work. (Once something Wufei-related, but that doesn't really count.) 'What is it; the Tokyo Stock Exchange?' I can't help laughing at the almost tangible _feel_ of his surprise, all the way down the line and across town. 'You see, I do listen to the stuff you tell me!'

Well, mostly. I always _try_ to take an interest in his job, but sometimes it's really boring, and I just sort of zone out and gaze at him adoringly. He's very cute when he geeks out talking about numbers. At least, I do more or less know what he actually does now. Some sort of currency speculation that I'm pretty clueless about, except it involves predicting what currencies are going to rise or fall in value. (I think). To be honest, I try not to think too much about it because my brain freezes up if I start to consider the amounts of money involved. I don't know how he can sleep at night, especially as he's also on some sort of focus group at the National Bank, which makes decisions about the valuation of the Sanque Crown. I mean, that's the official currency of an actual country, and my boyfriend gets to contribute his opinion on what happens to it. I wouldn't sleep a wink, but Heero just laughs and says it's based on statistical programmes, not his personal feelings.

'I can call the restaurant if you'd like, and push back our booking?' I offer. 'What time would suit you; half eightish? How about I meet you there? I can just walk from home, and it'll save you having to collect me.'

'Perfect,' he says gratefully, and then we just listen to each other breathing for a minute. He's not much good at talking on the phone, but he does quite like us being silent together, knowing I'm there. 'Duo, there's one other thing. Do you think you could do me a huge favour?'

'Absolutely! What is it?' (Please, please say you want me to take you shopping!)

'Well, it's for Trowa really. He's having a bit of an emergency at work, and...'

'Wait, what sort of an emergency?'

'He's performing a Caesarian on a lioness.'

'Oh. That's – that's definitely an emergency,' I say a bit weakly. I can't quite believe that I know someone who does stuff like that. 'He doesn't want me to help, does he?'

Heero laughs. 'No, that part's fine. But he always goes home in the afternoon for a bit to feed the animals. He asked me to do it, but I can't leave the office. Would you mind? He lives really close to your apartment, and I'll call the concierge to tell him to expect you.'

'Can't the concierge just go and feed them himself?'

'He's scared of Florence.'

'Well, so am I scared of Florence. What if she chews my leg off?'

Heero laughs again, and then seems to be cop on that I'm being totally serious. 'She'll be fine, Duo. She's met you a few times by now. I wouldn't ask you to go if I thought she'd have a problem with you. And it should only take about two minutes; you just need to put some food down for the dogs and check they're OK.'

'Wait, dogs plural? What dogs? Has he got, like, a whole pack of Florences?'

'Just the one, and a tiny little Yorkshire terrier called Victoria, who's very sweet, and he's looking after Shen while Wufei's in New York?'

'He's in New York?' I echo. 'You never said.'

'Didn't I?' I can hear the teeniest shade of edginess creeping into his voice. This is hands-down the longest phone conversation we've ever had, and I bet he's dying to get back to work. 'It's just for a few days. He's giving a series of lectures at the Met.'

'Oh, right.' Of course he is. Because God knows that Heero doesn't know anyone with a half-way normal job. Anyway, I _have_ to go to Trowa's now. I don't think it would kill Florence to miss a meal, but I don't want to think of a little Yorkie being hungry, and especially not Wufei's adorable puppy.

It's a bit pathetic, but I just want Wufei to like me, and I don't think he really does. Because he was so nice to me the first time we met, I thought we'd end up as friends, but it's never really happened. He's always perfectly friendly, but in a reserved, impersonal sort of way.

Still, maybe if I save his beloved dog from starvation, or death-by-savage-bulldog (or Yorkie-nibbling) he'll decide I'm a good person after all.

'Right, fine. I'll go and feed them.'

'Are you sure? You don't have to, if you'd really rather not. I'm sure Trowa could get someone else, or it's not as if they're going to starve in the next hour or two.'

'No, it's fine. I'll do it. Do I need to let them out too? Is there a garden?'

'There's a terrace, but the door's usually open so they can go in and out whenever they want. You just need to check their water bowls, and put down some food. The containers are in the kitchen cupboard under the sink. I'll text you the address. I'd better go. I'll let you know if I'm going to be any later than we'd planned, OK? And thanks.'

'No probs, cookie,' I blow him a kiss down the phone. 'See you later. Now, off you go! Make enough money to pay for dinner tonight.'

'Yes, sir,' he murmurs dryly, and I burst out laughing.

'Duo, I really do have to go.'

'I know.' We breathe quietly at each other for another minute or so, and then I blow him a kiss, and he really does hang up.

I just hold the phone in my hand for a minute longer, smiling, and then slide into my pocket and head out.


	4. First Row

Note : Many thanks, as always to Kaeru Shisho.

Chapter 4/5- First Row:

My phone pings a minute later; Trowa's address. I'd always imagined him living in a barn, knee-deep in every sort of animal, but actually it's an apartment block just twenty minutes' walk away from where I live. I know the building, even; it's an old, converted warehouse right on the water. I'd looked up a unit on-line a couple of years ago, but back then it had been way out of my price bracket, even for the smallest closet-sized studio, where you'd be convicted of animal cruelty for trying to swing the smallest and most malnourished kitten.

Trowa doesn't live in the smallest unit; he's got the penthouse. The concierge – an actual concierge in a uniform with shiny brass buttons - ushers me into the elevator, and gives me a rather pitying glance. Probably imagining having to call the cops to haul out my mangled, Florence-chewed body.

I don't know what sort of salaries vets get paid, and I do know Trowa's a kind of super-vet. He's not the sort who trims your dog's toenails, and de-scales his teeth. He works on a big-cat breeding programme at a wildlife reserve outside the city, which is partnered with some national parks in Africa, and he spends a few months working in Kenya or Tanzania every year. But, seriously, I can't imagine he gets paid enough to afford a place like this.

Maybe he's leading a secret life as a mercenary/assassin type? Selling drugs on the side? Or maybe he's like Heero and comes from a moneyed family? Probably that, since I know he went to Heero's very posh boarding school. (I much prefer the concept of him living a double life, though. Possibly a book idea there too.)

Ok, Duo, stop faffing. Time to open the door. Time to face the multi-fanged horror on the other side. Deep breath; trust what Heero said. She'll be fine. I walk in and instantly forget about Florence because the apartment is – unbelievable. Like something out of a _very_ upmarket interiors magazine, or a photo-spread of some billionaire's townhouse. (I'd expected straw on the floor and maybe a couple of llamas or penguins or something.) Instead, it's one huge open-plan area, and he presumably has the entire top floor because it's about a zillions times bigger than my apartment. It's all exposed brickwork and concrete with metal pipes overhead, and distressed floorboards underfoot, and massive oil canvases and African carved masks on the walls, but there are also curves of perspex cubes creating different living spaces, and a couple of floaty, gravity-defying staircases leading up to equally floating, invisibly-suspended mezzanine areas.

He's definitely some sort of top mercenary/assassin, to live in a place like this. It would even tie in with all his trips to Africa.

Florence is lying on a beanbag in a splash of sunlight, but there's no sign of the other two dogs. Or Trowa's cats. Oh, cripes. I hope she hasn't got hungry and eaten them. As I close the door behind me, she lifts her head and gives me her usual look of contempt. I do get that the poor thing had a horrible start in life, but Trowa treats her like a dowager empress; it wouldn't kill her to look pleasant occasionally. Anyway, she clearly decides that I'm not a danger to her, and closes her eyes again. OK, that's good.

I find the Yorkie easily; she's sleeping on a red-velvet antique armchair that looks totally out of place in Trowa's ultra-modern apartment, but she doesn't pay me any attention either. There's a cat too, which pokes a furry black-and-white head out from behind what looks like a giant paper clip sculpture that's been twisted tortuously around itself, and then instantly vanishes. Shen's a bit harder to find, (which is actually a good excuse to look around the whole apartment). I'm starting to worry that Florence really did eat get peckish and thought he'd make a tasty snack. Just swallowed him whole in one gulp, down to his little curly tail.

I eventually find him in what seems to be the kitchen area. It's a bit hard to tell, as there's nothing so mundane as a cooker or table, but there is a curved sheet of glass, which could either be a sink or possibly some sort of sculpture, especially as I can't quite work out where the taps are.

Shennie's hiding under a blanket in his little basket and a massive ginger cat (or miniature puma) is sitting in front of him, staring.

'Bad kitty!' I say sharply, clapping my hands to get his attention. 'Leave the puppy alone.' The cat looks like he wants to take a lump out of me, but he gets up and stalks away a couple of paces. Then I instantly feel bad; the poor thing only has three legs.

Unlike every other occupant of the apartment, Shen is over the moon to see me, frisking around my legs and giving little squeaks of joy, as I rummage around looking for food, and eventually find a cupboard built into the wall. There's all sorts of pet food, but nothing fit for human consumption, as far as I can see. I've no idea what Trowa eats. The sound of me rattling their bowls brings the other dogs running; well, Victoria dashes in at such a fast clip that she skids on the polished floorboards, and Florence strolls in at her usual ponderous waddle. Victoria practically inhales her food, while Florence eats each of her little biscuits individually, and very slowly, and I end up having to stand over her and keep Victoria from trying to steal her food. Shen doesn't bother eating anything, staying close to my legs, and whining softly until I scoop him up.

After the girls have both finally finished, they look up at me expectantly.

'I can't give you any more. Your dad would kill me. Hey, you want to go outside?' I'm dying to see the terrace; actually, what I really want to see are the mezzanines, but I can't think of a good excuse (and I bet Florence would tell Trowa that I was poking around his bedroom, because I'm pretty sure he can communicate with her.)

The dogs lead me outside, and up a narrow staircase, and suddenly I'm in the most enchanting place. There's an actual wild-flower meadow, albeit a pocket-sized one, and so many roses and lavender bushes that the air is deliciously scented, and some quirky pieces of furniture that look like they were made out of driftwood. I just wander around for a few minutes, looking at the little details I missed the first time; a little water feature bubbling deliciously around a rockery, and a rose-strewn gazebo. It's magical.

Finally, I sit down on one of the blissfully comfortable sun-loungers and let Shen snuggle against me. 'Hey, baby. Want me to stay for a bit, huh? Protect you from that scary cat? OK, I can stay for a minute.'

Shen gives a happy little snort and goes straight to sleep. I take out my phone, check the time, and send off a couple of texts. 'I'm going to have to go soon, sweetie,'

Instantly, he curls even closer, resting his head on my arm, and snuffling. I have to laugh because it's _exactly_ what I do when Heero says he needs to get up for work in the mornings. He usually caves, even for a short time, and of course I do too. I don't blame the little dog wanting me to stay around. I've no idea what Wufei's house is like, but I bet it's not like this. I'd hate to be left here by myself; I love the enchanted garden, but the apartment itself really isn't my type of place. It's all _spiky_ somehow; weird metal sculptures and bare concrete, and I know I'll be having nightmares about a massive and truly scary oil painting I tried not to look at downstairs, which looked like a group of clowns being attacked by mutant hummingbirds.

It's like some sort of modern art gallery full of weird installations, not someone's home.

It's peaceful here though, high above the harbour, with the most glorious views. Victoria and the ginger cat both drift in and settle around me. I've no idea how many animals are even here, I realise. There could be a hippo stashed in the bathroom, wherever that is, and a couple of cheetahs hanging out in Trowa's bedroom.

I think I doze off in the end, lulled by Shen's little snores, and the sunlight, and the blissfully comfortable (although truly hideous) chair. The next thing I know is a flurry of barking and then Trowa is standing in front of me and grinning. He's got Victoria in his arms, and looks a bit like he's posing for a poster as Hot Guy holding Adorable Dog.

'Hey, Tro. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.'

'I guess you did.' The grin widens. 'Thanks a million for coming over like this. You're a life saver, Duo, seriously.'

'No bother. Oh! How's the lioness? And the babies?'

'Two male cubs, mother and babies doing well. Finished up a lot sooner than I thought we would. I'd visions of us being there all night. ' He plonks down on a stool in front of me, and Florence sinks down at his feet. It's a total myth that dogs and their owners look alike. Florence is short and squat, while her master is tall and lean and has this whole broody-sexy-smouldering thing going on. (I try never to think that in front of Heero.) I'm very glad I grew out of my bad-boy phase years ago.

'So, did everyone behave themselves?'

'More or less. Your cat, the big ginger one, was terrorising Shen when I got here; staring him out of it, and Victoria tried to steal Florence's food.'

He laughs. 'Yeah, she does that; it's why I can't just leave food down, she'd eat everything and make herself sick, and Henry's not keen on dogs. Poor little Shennie. Still, 'Fei'll be home on Friday, after his interview, and I'm mostly off for the next couple of days; I'll keep an eye on him.'

'What interview?' I glance up from playing with Shen's ears. 'Heero just said he was giving some lectures.'

'Heero's trying to pretend it's not happening, 'cause he hates the thought of 'Fei moving away, but yeah, he's got an interview at the Met. The Metropolitan Museum in New York,' he clarifies, although actually I know what it is, because I did a shoot in front of it once. 'Well, I say interview, it's just a formality. He's worked there before; they'd love to have him back.'

'Oh. Heero never said anything.' I'm honestly not quite sure what to say. Trowa and I get on pretty well, but we've never really talked about anything vaguely personal before. Over the last two months, we've settled on a pattern for how we interact. He sometimes gets a bit flirty when Heero's around, although never when it's just the two of us, and I think it's just to tease my boyfriend more than anything. If Heero's not there, we discuss animals and food and films and books, and he's mostly adopted this slightly jokey style when he's talking to me. It all seems a little bit forced on his part, to be honest, but he seems comfortable enough so I play along (except for studiously ignoring the flirting part.) 'You'd all miss him though, right? If he moved?'

'Sure.' Trowa shrugs. 'Maybe it'd be the best thing for him. 'Change of scene.' He settles back on his stool, shifting Victoria on his arm, and looking at me. Not the expression I've caught on his face once or twice, which makes me remember Heero saying ' _he'd run away with you if he could_ ', but more considering, as if he's trying to work something out.

'He blames himself, Duo. For the whole Wufei thing. That's why he's not talking about it.'

' _What_? Why?'

Trowa blows out a puff of air. 'Because he's Heero, and it's what he does.'

I nod at that; for someone who's not even Catholic, Heero has guilt down to a fine art. 'But it wasn't his fault.'

Trowa shrugs. 'Tell him that. I was away for most of it, and Heero had just started a new job, and he was on this panel at the National Bank, and well, you know what he's like, he was spending all his time working, and he thinks now that he should have done something, that if he'd spent more time noticing what was going on with 'Fei, he could have stopped it, could have persuaded him to leave or whatever. I don't know.'

'He couldn't have,' I say positively, thinking of how many months, years, Hilde and other friends had spent telling me to leave Solo. 'I – I was in a pretty bad relationship myself, a few years ago, and my friends tried talking to me about it, and I – I just didn't want to know.'

Trowa nods, looking sympathetic but not terribly surprised by that little tidbit of information; he'd known then. Not exactly that it's a deep, dark secret, but I do wonder if Heero's said anything, or he's just heard something on the grapevine.

'Anyway. We'll see what happens. Can I get you something? A drink?' he asks, a pretty obvious attempt to change the conversation. Probably sorry he even brought it up.

'No, thanks.' He looks tired, actually, and I wonder how long he's been awake, how long the operation actually took. He doesn't have any kind of regular shifts, from what I can gather, so he could have been awake for who knows how long? 'I'm going to head off in a sec; I'm meeting Heero for dinner.'

'Yeah, he told me. Duo, listen, before you go, quick piece of advice?'

'Oh?' I look at him expectantly, thinking he's going to recommend a film I should see, or a new feed supplement I should get for Smokey.

'About Heero.'

'Um. OK?' That's a surprise because Heero is a sort of no-go topic between us.

He hesitates for a second, one hand stroking Victoria's silky topknot. 'Listen, Duo. Don't let him get away with too much stuff, OK? I know he's already been on to you about tonight, changing when he's meeting you.'

'It sounds like there was a serious problem, though,' I say defensively.

'Yeah. Duo, there's a serious problem in some financial market every day of the week. If Heero had his way, he'd probably live in his office, and it's not good for him. Today's this anniversary for you two, right? Something special? You need to put your foot down a bit, and drag him out of the office sometimes; the guy's insane about you, he'll do it if you pressure him a little bit. It won't hurt him to delegate sometimes, or even just take a step back and admit he can't do everything by himself. Just think about it, OK?'

I nod, a bit uncertainly. On the face of it, it's not really that much. Get your boyfriend out of the office sometimes; stop him working every hour God sends. But it feels a bit more, like he's officially handing Heero, and Heero's well-being, over to me. Trusting me with him.

I think neither of us knows quite what to say next. I make a production of standing up and settling Shennie in the chair, telling him to watch out for evil cats, and when I straighten up Trowa's smiling at me.

'Oh, hey, before you go, can I ask you one thing?' he says as he's escorting me downstairs and through his perspex labyrinth. 'Remember I ran into you last week in that cafe, with that guy?'

'Mmm.' I suddenly have a pretty good idea what he's going to ask, and I think it's more to keep things light than anything. It's been something of a running joke on his part for a while now, when I'm going to start introducing him to all my friends who work in the modelling industry.

'He's a friend of yours?'

'Of course.' I look at him and smile innocently. How transparent can you get, honestly?

'Any chance that you have his number?'

'Since he's a good friend of mine, yes, naturally.'

Trowa gives me a look that might possibly be intimidating if I hadn't been dating Heero for months at this stage. 'Any chance of you passing it on to me?'

'Hmm. I'm not sure. Why do you want it?'

'Why d'you think?' he retorts.

'Oh, right. In that case, no, probably not. My friends aren't some dating pool for you to play around with.'

I'm never quite sure if it's a joke, or if he genuinely thinks that if he keeps pestering me, I'll magically produce a line-up of top models for his delectation. To be honest, I don't think he needs any outside help, from what I hear. He pretty much ticks all the boxes and then some. He's attractive, well-educated, apparently very well off (judging by this place), works in animal conservation, volunteers at a shelter. Allegedly _very_ good in bed. (Masses of stamina and flexibility, according to the popular report.) There's even his tragic past, to go with the whole broody-Heathcliff persona; the long-term lover who died (supposedly in Trowa's arms) and who left him so heart-broken and bitter that now he doesn't do relationships.

Talk about a challenge. Irresistible. (I really must put him into a book. Well-disguised.)

His eyes narrow. 'Right. Tell me, Duo. Which of your particular friends have I not bothered to call in the past? How many hearts have I broken because I didn't ring the next morning?'

'Hm? Oh, no one, really,' I say easily, grinning at him. 'My friends aren't that sensitive. But that particular friend happens to live in London, and he's seeing somebody, so I don't think he'd be interested in you. Sorry!'

'No biggie. I've never been that into blonds anyway,' he says airily, and makes a face at me, opening his front door, and I laugh, thinking how much nicer he is on the rare occasions when he just lets himself act normally around me.

Well, that little nugget of Heero-management was interesting. And wholly unexpected. I do think about it, all the way home, and for the next couple of hours, as I tidy up the apartment, and plan a breakfast-in-bed menu for the next morning (baked eggs with bacon lardons, and shaved Gruyere), and finally shower and change before heading out. I know Heero's work is important to him, and OK, I've sometimes got him to stay in bed (or the shower) a bit later than usual, and a couple of times I've persuaded him to meet me for lunch, but otherwise I've pretty much put up with his schedule.

Maybe I need to rethink that, just a little bit.

The restaurant is a place his friend Relena had recommended. I'd Googled it earlier, just to check what sort of thing I should wear. It's super-romantic, because 'Lena's that sort of girl; all dim lighting and beeswax candles and flowers. It's nothing like the sort of restaurant he normally takes me to, because we both like trying out different ethnic foods. Yes, it's very fancy, but it's not really my sort of place. Actually, I don't think it's Heero's either but I'm guessing he asked 'Lena to suggest somewhere special for the occasion.

I let the deferentially smiling head waiter usher me to the table, and summon a train of minions to bring me a menu, iced water, a tiny _amuse bouche_ of smoked salmon mousse. It's perfect. It's the sort of place I'd never have been let into, a decade or so ago. I wouldn't have been allowed to pollute its fragrant, moneyed atmosphere with my mere presence. The older version of me, polished and poised in designer clothes, gets the red carpet treatment, and a few turned heads and murmured comments as I walk past.

Heero arrives at eight thirty precisely, because it would honestly kill him ever to be late for anything, and he's wearing the pleased little smile that means he's ecstatically, over-the-moon happy about something. Anyone else would be dancing on a roof-top, belting out the Hallelujiah chorus, but Heero gets a little quirk at the left side of his mouth.

'Hi!'

'Hello.' He leans over to kiss me as he sits down. It's demure and discreet, given the sort of place we're in, but his eyes are dark with the promise of _more, later._ 'Happy Anniversary.'

'You too. I take it we're not going to be sharing the cheapest thing on the menu, and then washing up to pay for it?'

'Absolutely not. You can have all the champagne and caviar you want.'

'Ick.' I scrunch up my nose at the thought because I think caviar is the most repulsive substance in the entire universe (after coleslaw), as he very well knows. 'No thank you. I might have the lobster though.'

'All the lobsters you want,' he says extravagantly. 'How did you get on at Trowa's?'

'Well, no body parts got chewed off, luckily,' I grin at him. 'That wouldn't have been such a good thing to happen on our anniversary. Oh, I was forgetting! This is for you.'

He blinks as I hand him the shirt, which I've wrapped up in shiny paper festooned with sparkly bows and ribbons. 'What is it?'

'It's a present, duh. For you.

'But I didn't get you anything!' he protests, looking upset.

'Duh. You're buying me an amazing dinner. And it's not just an anniversary gift. I wanted to get something to thank you for all the help you've been giving me.'

'You didn't have to get me anything, Duo. It was fun. I've enjoyed it.'

'Oh, it's not nothing much. Go on, Heero, _open_ it.' I bounce in my seat, not quite believing that he's apparently planning just to put it down beside his chair. I wonder sometimes if he's even human. I'd have had the paper torn off before he'd even finished handing it to me, because getting presents is one of my favourite things ever.

He casts me a somewhat bemused glance, but does as he's told. 'Oh. Thank you. That's very useful.'

That's _it_? 'Well, you'll probably need to try it on,' I say, deflated. Fizz it, maybe I should have got him a book instead. Or a computer thingy. 'I just thought...the colour would be great on you, and it's a very classic style and you could wear it for work, or for going out, and I really hope I got the size right, but I'm sure I could change it if it's wrong or if you don't like it on...'

'Why don't I just try it on now?' He offers, finally, _finally_ getting the hint. Or maybe he just crumbles at my hopeful, wide-eyed expression. (He usually can't resist that.)

'Oh, what a good idea,' I enthuse, trying to look innocent. I get a slight, retaliatory tug on my braid as he stands up, and a conspiratorial grin from a passing waiter.

The shirt, of course, is utterly gorgeous. Just fitted enough to show that there are some serious muscles underneath, and the exactly-right colour for him. 'Oh, _yes. Wow._ Just one thing; open your top button; yes that's it. There, that's _perfect_ , Heero.'

'Really?' he asks uncertainly, fiddling with his collar after I adjust it, just a tiny bit.

' _Stop_ that, OK?' I order. 'I'm the one who knows about this stuff, and you look sensational. I'm totally taking you shopping at the weekend.'

'We'll see,' he hedges, but I can tell there's a flicker of interest there. 'I'm not really interested in clothes, Duo.'

Well, the whole world is aware of that. 'I know, but maybe just a nice pair of trousers to go with the shirt?' I coax. (Or an entire new wardrobe?) 'Anyway, we can think about it later. It's hours since I ate and I'm starving. Shall we order?'

Dinner is perfect, utterly. We both order the special tasting menu, and work our way through a grand total of eight courses, each more delicious and perfectly presented than the last.

'Oof,' I finally have to admit defeat, pushing my mango and passionfruit sorbet away. At least, I did manage to eat the miniature tropical fruit kebab that came with it. 'I'm dead. I couldn't eat another bite.'

'Wait, say that again,' Heero teases, pretending to take out his phone. 'I want to record that. Duo Maxwell not being able to finish a dessert. I might even post it on YouTube.'

'Ha ha, Yuy. Very funny.' I stick my tongue out at him, and the waitress who's refilling my water glass clearly has to work very hard not to laugh at me goofing around. They all think I'm beyond adorable at this stage; fussing over me; bringing a second helping of mushroom-and-Gorgonzola stuffed crepes after I'd raved about how divine they were; the head chef himself coming out to present me with a small beribboned package of chocolate fondant to take home. 'Seriously, I'm totally stuffed. I think you might have to carry me out to the car. I don't think I can walk even that far.'

'I thought you wanted to go to that nightclub you were talking about?'

'Oh! Well, we could.' I'm not sure if I want to, any more. I quite like the idea of going home to bed. But..this is Heero, offering to come dancing with me. 'Maybe just for an hour or so, if you don't mind? I kind of told a couple of friends we might be there, they all think I have this imaginary boyfriend, so it'd be nice for them to meet you and see that you really exist. You're sure you want to?'

'Quite sure, yes.'

Even though it's only ten thirty, there's already a long line outside the club. I actually have VIP tickets, but before I can take them out of my wallet, one of the bouncers waves us on in. Heero grins at me. 'That's never happened to me before. Is this what it's like dating a celebrity?'

'Oh, pish. You know I'm not. It's probably the hot dark-haired guy in the fabulous blue shirt who they're letting in, not me. I just happen to be with you.'

The second time I ever saw Heero was actually in a club. He was with Wufei and Trowa – not that I knew who they were back then – and although Trowa had been wrapped around some stunning blond guy, practically to the point of public indecency (which is saying something for a club like Blur) – Heero and Wufei had spent the night sitting and talking in a corner, Heero shooting his most evil glares at anyone who dared to go near them. I kind of expect we'll end up sitting down and having a drink and just chatting but instead Heero takes my hand and leads me straight on to the dance floor.

He's chock-full of surprises, my boyfriend. (So far, always incredibly good surprises.)

'Heero!' I beam at him as he pulls me against him. 'Where did you learn to dance like this? Not at your fancy boarding school?'

'Not exactly.' He slides his hands down, sinfully slowly, down my back, letting them rest on my waist. 'Trowa taught me.'

'Oh, did he now?' I ask, just a little bit sourly. I may like Trowa a lot better than I used to, but I'm not sure I like the idea of him and Heero being quite this close. (Heero and I are currently very close. One hand is sneaking its way under my shirt). Especially as I have a pretty good idea that something happened between the two of them, at some stage. Just an impression I get sometimes, given the way Trowa looks at him.

'Mmm.' Heero kisses his way along my jawbone, catching my earlobe in his teeth, and tugging slightly, making me gasp.

'I hope he didn't teach you to do that.'

'No. Purely natural talent.'

I laugh out loud at that, at the smug look on his face. I have this idea in my head about him, about what he's like, a bit shy, a bit geeky, and then he totally blindsides me, groping me on a dance floor.

God, I'm crazy about him.

After a few more songs, Heero heads to get us some drinks, and I find a couple of stools at the other end of the bar, idly scoping the place out. I don't actually see anyone I know, but it's still early yet.

'Duo Maxwell, right?' The guy suddenly in front of me and smiling is – be honest, Duo – totally hot. Not remotely in Heero's league, but still. 'I'm sorry to bother you, and I'm sure you get sick of hearing this, but I love your books.'

'I never get tired of hearing that.' I give him my most winning charm-the-fans smile. 'I'm glad you like them.'

'Oh, I do.' He asks me a couple of the usual questions – how do you think of your plots? Are the characters based on real people? 'I just have one slight quibble, meeting you in person. That photo in your books doesn't remotely do you justice. Can I buy you a drink?'

Wow, that didn't take him long. 'That's really nice of you, but I'm with my boyfriend.'

'Not from where I'm standing.' The smile remains perfectly pleasant, but with just a tiny edge of something else, something predatory. Someone who'd been expecting a _yes, please_ , and who doesn't like taking _no thanks_ for an answer instead. 'And if he's foolish enough to leave you alone like this, then finders keepers, surely.'

'Actually not.' I let my own expression harden, and his face changes. I might look like a pushover, but I grew up on the streets. I can handle myself.

'He said no,' Heero says curtly. Considering he's about the same height as me, he does a pretty good job of suddenly looming over me. 'And he's taken.'

Chat-up guy gives me a sullen sort of a nod and slinks off, and I round on Heero. ' _Excuse_ me? What exactly was _that_ about?'

He blinks, looking genuinely mystified. Seriously, there are times when I have a desperate urge to shake him. It's like he sometimes just doesn't get any sorts of normal social behaviour. 'What did I do? I was trying to help.'

'How?' I snap.

'Well,' the idiot blunders. 'It looked like he was hassling you. I thought you'd want me to get rid of him.'

'What, you think I'm some delicate flower who can't tell someone to leave me alone? Heero, trust me, if I want to tell someone to push off, I'm quite capable of doing it by myself.'

Before I've even finished speaking, I know just exactly what a stupid thing I've said. _If_. Fizz it. I watch Heero's expression change from slightly puzzled to pissed off, in the space between one heartbeat and the next. One syllable.

Oh, Duo. You flitterbrain.

'I'm sorry,' he says coldly, more coldly than he's ever spoken to me. 'I didn't realise I was interrupting something.'

Ouch. That's low.

'I'm not having this conversation,' I mutter, and turn on my heel, heading for the exit.

'Duo, wait!' He catches my arm as I stalk down up the steps to the front door, and I whirl around, wrenching free and almost knocking him off balance. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'

'No,' I agree quietly, aware that we're putting on quite the show for people still waiting in line. 'You shouldn't. Is that honestly what you think of me? That I'd be panting to hit on some other guy the minute you're not standing beside me? Well, screw you, Heero!'

'Of course I didn't think that!'

'Well, it's pretty much what you said.'

We stand there, glaring at one another. I don't, to be honest, entirely get what's happening, how it's all gone so wrong (except that I suppose sort my part of my brain has spent the whole day dwelling on Hilde's comments about Heero being over-possessive and controlling). And this _is_ wrong, it's awful. Heero, looking at me like that.

'Duo, you can't just walk off like that or...'

'Or what?' I snap. 'You'll hit me? Why don't you fucking try it? Show me just how much like Solo you are? Try it and I'll damn well flatten you.'

I've never spoken to him like that, and this time he's the one who walks off. Oh, Shizzle. _Shit_. I bite my lip, watching him stalk off, pretty sure that I've just destroyed the best relationship I've ever had.


	5. First (and Fifth) time to Say I Love You

Note: Many, many thanks to KS for innumerable readings and suggestions.

Chapter 5/5 - Fifth (and First) Time to Say I Love You:

I call my taxi service, and a perky female voice blithely informs me that, yes, of course she can send out a car. It will only take two hours. At the most generous estimate.

As if to reinforce just how much the universe is currently hating me (and right now, I really don't blame it), it starts to rain, slow lazy drops plopping on my beautiful shirt and immediately discolouring the silk. Damn. And then a car pulls up beside me. Oh, shizzle. Just what I need; some kerb-crawling jerk who thinks I'm a hooker looking for business, albeit a very expensively-dressed one.

Except it's a car that I happen to I know; not just some random kerb-crawling jerk.

'Duo. Wait! I'll take you home.'

'Fuck off.' I still have my 'phone out, looking for another taxi company's number, and I don't even bother looking at him.

'Don't be such an idiot. It's raining – do you want to get soaked? Now, get in the car.'

Charming. So, I'm an idiot who exists only to be bossed around and told what to do, I think sullenly. Too feeble to get rid of some hassly guy in a club, and someone he can't trust to leave alone for two seconds in case I start looking elsewhere.

Someone who doesn't have enough sense not to stand out in a rainstorm.

Well, he can go fuck himself. Except – it's starting to rain a little more heavily and my feet are already starting to feel soggy. I didn't choose my divine Italian shoes for their waterproof properties. Yes, principles are wonderful things, but I'm wearing hand-stitched suede jeans. They'll be ruined in two seconds. I don't actually mind getting wet (I quite like walking in the rain) but I don't want to wreck my clothes.

'Fine,' I snap, 'but I don't want to talk to you. Got that?'

He nods, obviously not daring to speak. Good.

'You have no _fucking_ idea how pissed I am with you,' I mutter, closing the car door, and glaring out the window. The ride home is truly horrendous. I have no real idea how we got from hand-feeding each other morsels of lobster and scallop to this. I have no idea how to get back there. There's a loop in my head that keeps replaying Heero's comment that he was sorry he'd interrupted anything with that guy in the club, and it's pretty much over-riding anything else. How can he possibly think so little of me?

He gets out of the car after he parks, and shadows me as I walk to my building. I want to snap at him that I'm quite capable of finding my own front door, thank you _very_ much, but – I just can't be bothered. I don't want any more arguing. I can't even be bothered to object when he gets into the lift with me.

I'm half-planning to slam the door in his face as soon as I get inside, but of course Smokey comes barrelling straight out, determined to love us both half to death. 'Smokey, sit!' I rap out, and he instantly drops at my feet. He and Heero both give me identical looks of pure misery, as if I'd just stamped on their favourite toys. I feel like Cruella de Ville's more evil twin brother.

'Oh, for God's sake!' I lean against the door, and bend down to pull Smokey's ears. 'Go on, then. Say hello to him.'

Heero crouches down to hug the dog against him, and then looks up at me. 'Duo, please. Just – tell me I haven't ruined this. Us.'

' _No_!' I manage to choke it out, half on a sob, and then we're suddenly kneeling on the floor, wrapped around each other, gasping apologies.

'I've never been in love with anyone before,' he says into my hair. 'I've never felt like this about another person, I didn't think it would ever happen.'

He's sort of implied this before, but it's the first time he's ever really come out and said it.

From the things he's told me, he had a pretty awful childhood. His parents died in a 'plane crash when he was just a tiny baby, and his dad's best friend had been designated as his legal guardian. Odin sounded like a decent enough guy, but he was a career diplomat, and Heero spent the first seven years of his life being dragged around the world like an extra piece of luggage, dumped on to whatever nanny or nursemaid was available, until the next posting came up. Then _he_ died; Heero got passed around a few distant relations for three or four years, none of whom remotely wanted the responsibility of a young child, and he eventually ended up with a great-uncle on his mother's side, who packed him off to the first boarding school he could find which would take a ten-year-old boy.

There'd never been anyone who'd really cared for him, who'd bonded with him.

Even someone who hasn't spent a fortune on therapy can work out that it's not easy for him to connect easily with people, to get attached.

He has a few incredibly close friends, all of whom he's known since he was at school, and he's mentioned dating a few other people, but I get the impression that none of them were really all that serious for him.

And now there's me.

There are a few minutes when we just cling on, gasping each other's names and pretty incoherent apologies. Smokey gets bored pretty soon, and starts scratching my leg with one paw. 'Oh. Fizz it. I should take him out for a minute. He's been here for a few hours by himself.'

'I'll do it,' Heero says at once, snagging one of my jackets off the coat rack. 'Go and put on something dry. I won't be long.'

I start to object, or at least offer to go with him, and then think that maybe he wants a bit of space. Maybe it's something we both need. I take off my clothes, and pull on a t-shirt and cotton pyjama bottoms, both soft and worn and washed out. I can't even be bothered to hang my lovely clothes up, and leave them in a heap on the floor. After that, I just lie down, trying to sort out what I'm feeling.

It's not like we haven't had a row before.

We've had silly little couple-y squabbles, almost for the fun of it, over whose turn is to unload the dishwasher, or what toppings to get on a take-way pizza, and we've always ended up in bed, with dishwashers un-emptied and food unordered.

One semi-serious argument, about a month after we'd met, for a similar sort of reason as tonight, but it hadn't escalated anything like this one. Maybe we'd both just been too new at that point, too scared of what might happen if we really had a proper fight, so we'd both backed down and apologised, pretty much as soon as it had happened.

I'm an idiot.

I rewind everything that happened in the club, right from when Heero left me at the bar. He'd been trying to help, I can see that now. He'd seen some guy talking to me, he'd clearly got from my body language that I wasn't overly keen, and he'd just – been his overprotective Heero self. Any other time, I might have found it charmingly chivalrous, because I do kind of like the over-protective thing sometimes, or laughed it off, or maybe told him later that I was well able to look after myself.

Instead, after what Hilde had said, after thinking about Solo earlier, I'd totally over-reacted. Obviously.

The front door closes, loud in the after-midnight silence, and I can hear him talking to Smokey, and my dog giving a couple of answering barks. Heero doesn't come in to my room for another ten minutes. Actually, he finally opens the bedroom door just as I'm thinking I'll get up and find him. He sits on the edge of the bed, clearly uncertain. 'It's really pouring out. I dried him off a bit; he's settled down in his basket now.'

'Thanks.' He's clearly towelled off his own hair as well; it's even more dishevelled than usual. I stretch one hand across to him, and something that's knotted and tense and cramping inside me loosens, just a little, when he takes it.

He did this the first time we met, in that cafe. Picked up my hand and held it like it was something marvellous, miraculous, and twined our fingers, linking us together. 'Duo. Did you really think I was going to hit you?'

I know, bone-deep, as much as I've known anything in my life, that this is the question that will decide our whole relationship, probably the most important thing anyone will ever ask me.

' _No_! I swear, absolutely not. I was just pissed at you, I should _never_ have said that. I swear, I'd never even have looked at you if I thought you'd ever hurt me. I know it was an awful thing to say, but I was really pissed. I know you wouldn't. Heero, please, _please_ believe me.'

I whisper his name once more, just a breath, and squeeze my fingers around his, and suddenly he's properly in bed with me, and we're wrapped around each other again.

Oh, thank every deity in the entire universe.

We just lie like that for a while, not speaking, occasionally making tiny incremental shifts to get even closer together, and at some point, he slides off his shoes and trousers.

'I'm so sorry, Heero,' I say at last, when the comfortable companionable part has sort of leeched out of the silence, and it just becomes a void to be filled, waiting for explanations and apologies. It would be so very tempting just to close my eyes, and let him hold me, and pretend none of this ever happened. Except – it could all too easily happen again. It could be worse.

This time, Heero came after me. Next time, he might not. I can all too easily see him retreating into his shell, convincing himself that it wasn't meant to be, that he's better off alone. He might have done it this time if he'd let himself think it through, if it hadn't started to rain, if he hadn't wanted to leave me standing out in the rain by myself.

And I don't know if he really cares enough about me to think I'm worth the risk of getting hurt. I know enough about him at this point to know how he compartmentalizes things. I can imagine him locking our time together into a box, never to be thought of, except as a warning never to get so close to another person.

If he really, truly made up his mind that we were finished, I don't know if there's anything I could do about it.

'I'm sorry for all of it. I - way over-reacted, and it wasn't even your fault, most of it. Do you think, can we talk a little bit about what happened?'

'It's over,' he mutters into my hair, just the way I knew he would.

'Please, cookie?' I coax, snuggling against him. He gives a little huff at the nickname (I know he likes it really) and his arms tighten around me.

'I've never really seen you lose your temper before,' he says softly. 'I didn't think you even knew how to swear.'

'You wouldn't do it much either,' I huff at him, 'if you'd had a nun wash your mouth out for you when you were seven.'

'Sister Helen?' he asks, because he remembers every single little thing that I've ever told him.

'Yeah. Poor lady. I had some mouth on me back then.'

'Duo, no offence but you still do.' His lips quirk slightly at me, a faint tease, and I smile back, letting myself relax properly for the first time since this all began. 'I was only trying to help,' he says finally, when I've almost given up on getting him to talk, when I'm starting to think that maybe he's right, maybe it's over, and there's no point going over any of it. 'It's not that I think you can't take care of yourself.'

'I know. And I do kind of like it, sometimes. You going all masterful and over-protective. Just – it wasn't the best time.' I keep my voice as low as his, just little breaths of sound. 'It's just...you know I met Hilde this morning, right? She kind of mentioned Solo, and well, he was pretty possessive and shit when we were together, and he hated me going anywhere near other guys when I was out with him and...'

'You think I'm like him?' He looks utterly stricken; I think he'd probably make a run for it except he has me twined around him, and he can't really go anywhere without peeling me off (which is totally not going to happen.)

' _No_! God, Heero, no! You're _nothing_ like him, honest. But what she said, it made me think about some stuff, and it's a little bit scary, you know? Not _you_ , but the idea of being with someone. You're kind of the first person I've properly been with since him.'

'It is scary,' he agrees.

'Yeah.' It must be doubly so, for him. I'm the first person he's really had a proper relationship with, I know that, and I'm definitely not the easiest person to be with.

'I love you,' he says suddenly, quite brisk and matter of fact, as if he's commenting on the stock market. 'You know that, don't you?'

'Absolutely.'

'Well, good. And you know I didn't mean the thing I said – in the club.'

I shrug, just a little. It had damn well hurt, him saying that. The implication behind it. 'He was asking about my books, at the start. I was being nice. That's all. I didn't ask him to fucking hit on me. I was in the process of telling him to get lost when you barged in.'

'I'm sorry,' Heero breathes. 'I do - I try not to mind so much. But you were laughing with him, and I just...'

'Yeah,' I say softly, and put myself in his place for a second. He'd left me, just for a couple of minutes, and when he'd looked back, I'd been laughing and talking with another guy. I wouldn't have reacted well either, if our positions had been reversed. 'Heero. It didn't mean anything, we were talking about my books and I was just being nice to a fan. It's what I do. It's like – I dunno. My default setting. To be nice to people.'

It's not just a default setting; it's been my survival strategy since I was a little kid.

Smile winningly at the nice people as they do their shopping, and they might feel sorry for you, might throw a few coins to the street kid begging at the corner, or might not notice as you pick their pocket, or slide something out of a basket.

Look desirable enough, seductive enough and some guy in a club might be tempted enough to hand over the money for a blow-job, or a quick fuck in a bathroom or back alley.

Smile as you're looked over by fashion editors and designers and photographers. Smile as they step that little bit too close, close enough to murmur something in your ear, as they touch your arm or your ass, a gesture that starts out as accidental but somehow turns into a caress when you don't object. Keep smiling as they close the office door, or lead you somewhere private, because it's what everyone does, it's the only way to get hired, the only way to stand out from all the other pretty boys who want to get hired.

That was what Solo had always said.

I tell Heero some of that, haltingly. He knows most of it already, really, since I told him nearly everything about myself soon after we first met. Like he did back then, he just holds me, and drops occasional kisses on my face, on my throat, as I open my soul for him.

'It's not that I don't trust you, honestly,' he whispers. 'I do. It's just that I don't really see why you'd want to be with me, when you could have anyone in the universe. You're so..'

'Oh, hush. Heero, love, I'm with you because I want to be.' I pause, looking into his eyes. 'I love you.'

It's not the first time I've said it. Not exactly. Twice during sex, but that doesn't really count. Once when he was asleep. (I'm pretty sure he was anyway.) And once was a sort of jokey thing when he turned up here one night with pizza and ice-cream because I'd mentioned earlier that day that I was blocked on a chapter I was trying to finish. I'd just flung my arms around him, and said the L word, and quite a bit later we'd eaten cold pizza and melted ice-cream in bed.

But it is the first time I've said out loud, seriously, and I get very thoroughly kissed in return.

'I love you,' I say again, just to get another kiss. 'Heero, seriously. I utterly adore you. And I swear, I've never cheated on anyone in my life.' Technically, I'm not really sure if that's true. I'd been with other people when I was with Solo. (But he was the one who'd essentially pimped me out, and sometimes he'd been there too, so I don't think that counts as cheating.)

'I just need you to trust me a little bit, OK? No, don't.' I gently put one finger over his lips before he says anything, because I know what he'll say. 'I know you think I'm – dazzling, and everything, but really I'm just me. I'm not that amazing. But you are. I know you say you don't know why I'm with you, but Heero, I feel exactly the same way about you. You don't need to be jealous, _ever_ ,' I breathe.

'I'll try,' he promises.

'And I'll try only to be nice to female or very elderly fans from now on.' It's supposed to be a joke, but I can see he likes the idea of it. 'I will try,' I say seriously. 'I promise. No flirting.'

He gives me a solemn nod. 'I will try to control my... over-possessiveness. I know you don't like that.'

That's bit tricky. 'Um, I sort of do, sometimes.' I know it's stupid, but there's a part of me, deep-down, that equates jealousy and the whole possessive thing as caring. There's a really nasty little part that doesn't see any harm in provoking those emotions. I used to do it with Solo all the time; chat up some other guy just as a way of getting his attention. I've never consciously done it with Heero, except...he'd left me, in that club, and the first thing I'd done was – let myself get chatted up by some guy. With Heero watching.

Well, fizz it.

It hadn't been a conscious decision, God no, not for one second, but I'd still done it. And reacted to what Heero had said in the way I had precisely because, at some level, it had been true, and I'd known it.

'I'm sorry,' I mutter suddenly, curling back into his shoulder. 'Heero, I'm so sorry.'

He settles me against him, petting my hair. 'Duo, stop. You didn't do anything; it's fine, honestly.'

'I love you,' I say against his neck. It's so easy, I don't know why I haven't told him before, and now I apparently can't stop saying it. 'And God, I'm so sorry, Heero. That guy, I get why you got pissed off, I _was_ sort of flirting, it's this thing I used to do with Solo, just to get him to pay attention to me, and I didn't even _realise_ , and I'm sorry.'

'You said that,' Heero reminds me. His hand is still running up and down my braid, so gently. 'Maybe we can say that we both...over-reacted a little bit?'

'I think that works. I'm kind of messed up, you know.'

'Shhh. You're perfect. Perfect for me.'

We don't talk for a while after that. Heero unbraids my hair, and carefully spreads it out so it's draped over us both. I think I even start to doze off for a little bit, as his hands drift over my skin, my hair.

'I don't get it,' he says finally, and it's like he's been having some conversation with me in his head, that I'm not privy to.

'What, love?' I press my lips to his arm, and then lift my head to look at him properly.

'The – the thing with that man. Solo.' Such loathing in his voice as he says the name. 'I can't understand why you let him hurt you. I can't understand why anyone would stay in that sort of relationship, and you... You're such a strong person, you're brave, you're intelligent. I just can't imagine you ever putting up with anyone doing that to you.'

'God, Heero. I dunno. Why does anyone? Why did Wufei put up with that guy with the weird name?'

'Treize never hit him!' Heero says vehemently, but there's sudden shadow behind his eyes, like he's doubting that, all of a sudden. The question, I realise suddenly, isn't just about me. It's about Wufei as well, and I don't even know what went on with him and the evil ex. I'm not entirely sure that Heero does either.

'Well, that's good,' I say levelly. 'Heero, I don't know. I was a stupid fifteen year old kid, and he'd read the abusers' manual backwards. It's not like he beat me black and blue every day. I _would_ have left if it had been like that. It didn't even happen that often, not at the start anyway. The first few times, God, he was so sorry after. So _nice_ to me, he said it was all his fault, that he didn't deserve me, that he was under so much stress, that I was this amazing person and he wasn't fit to be near me.'

'He wasn't!' Heero bursts out.

'Yeah, I know that now, I really do, but ... anyway. I don't even know when it changed, not really, just it always ended up being my fault. I didn't get a job, or I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, or I looked at some other guy when we were out..and I thought, I was so _fucking_ dumb, Heero, I thought that proved that he cared about me, if he got jealous like that; sometimes I'd even chat some one up on purpose, just to piss him off, or to get his attention. I dunno.' I roll over on my back, gazing up at my ceiling, feeling Heero's eyes on me. 'I loved him,' I say softly. 'I really did. I just wanted him to feel the same way, to be special to him.'

I'd never had that. Sure, Heero hadn't exactly had a peachy childhood either, but there'd always been some adult in the background, watching out for him. There'd always been nice clothes and the best schools and a safe place to sleep. Once he'd started school, he'd had his friends and their families looking out for him. I'd had Sister Helen, for the few months I'd been at the orphanage, and there'd been a few other social workers and foster parents who'd cared, but I'd never been _special_ to any of them _,_ never more than another needy, lost kid in a never-ending line of lost children.

I'd never been special 'til Solo.

I do try telling Heero some of that, stumbling over the words, but it's obvious that he doesn't get it, that he just can't see why anyone would stay in that sort of relationship, when they could just leave, just walk away. It's so black and white for him.

If someone hurts you, treats you badly, you leave them. It's an equation set in stone.

We're so very different, both of us. He's self-contained to the point where I don't think he's ever really _needed_ anyone, or he's convinced himself he doesn't.

'Heero,' I sit up abruptly, leaning against the headboard, and resting my chin on my knees. 'What would you do if I hit you?'

' _What_? You wouldn't!'

'Purely hypothetical question, OK? What would you do if I threw a punch at you right now? Say I broke your nose? And then I started to cry, and I said I loved you more than anything, and I hated myself, and my publisher was pushing me to bring a deadline forward, and I really needed the money because I had debts and people, bad people, were leaning on me to pay them back, and I had really awful writer's block, and I couldn't believe that I'd hurt you, the only thing in the world that actually mattered to me. What would you do?' I challenge again. 'Hit me back, call the cops, walk out?'

'No. Of course not. I'd want to help you, whatever you did. You know that.'

'Yeah,' I say softly, looking at the sapphire truth shining in his eyes. 'I know you would, Heero. But that's how it starts, you see.'

That's it. I can see the exact instant when he does get it, and then he pulls me to lie in his arms.

'Did he really?' He ghosts one fingertip across the bridge of my nose.

'Yeah.' I have to steel myself not to flinch, not because of his touch, which I can barely feel, but because I can remember how much it hurt. So much blood and Solo swearing that he loved me, though the haze of pain.

Instead, I curl closer into the warmth and strength of Heero's body, holding me, knowing that this man will never hurt me.

'What happened?' I think the question just slips out, or maybe he'd just planned to ask it in his head, because he looks surprised when I glance up at him.

'The first time? Like I told you, pretty much. He'd borrowed money from these moneylenders, he was always having some big idea, some scan, and they never worked out. They were threatening him, or he said they were anyway. There were these guys he knew who made snuff films; you know what they are, right?' He nods, looking rather sick, and I press on, just wanting to get it over with. This is something I've never told him before.

'I'd done a couple of things like that before, but God, Heero, it was _horrible;_ you have no idea how awful. Solo said I had to start somewhere, that everyone did it like that, and then you got better jobs, and I didn't know anything, I believed him, but I hated it. So much. I – there was this one film, it was supposed to be set in a children's home, it was all about abusing kids, and I was supposed to be one of the kids, and I couldn't – I just walked out, and I swore I'd never do anything like that again. Then I did get a few real jobs, modelling for catalogues and stuff, and that was OK, I quite liked it.'

I'd loved it, actually. People fussing over me, and lovely clothes, and Solo beaming his approval in the background, then taking me back to his apartment, to his bed.

Being special, for the first time ever.

'Then there was this money trouble, and he said the only thing he could think of was for me to go back and make some of those films again, and I said I'd do anything else, _anything_ , but not that. And he hit me,' I finished simply. 'Just like I told you. And then he said he loved me, the first time ever, and of course I went and made the stupid film. Three of them.'

'And then what happened?'

I sneak a look at him; it's the first time I've told him this particular little sordid slice of my life story, but his face is totally impassive. I just shrug. 'I guess the debt got paid off. Oh, yeah, and I slept with the director a couple of times, like I was this little extra bonus for him or something. And then I got an actual proper modelling contract and that was that.'

I roll back on to my side to look at him properly, and he takes my face in both hands and leans in to kiss me. 'I'm so sorry all that happened to you. I just – can't believe you, sometimes. Most of the time. That you went through all that.'

'And now I'm here,' I say, very quietly, gazing up at him. 'So it all worked out.'

'It did,' he affirms, and dips his head down to kiss me. Not just for comfort or affection this time; there's a definite bit of spice to it, and I arch up to meet him. Exactly on cue, my darling dog scratches at the door, and Heero mutters a curse.

'Does he need to go out again?'

Actually, Smokey is one of the reasons why I usually go to Heero's place. He (Smokey, not Heero) usually needs to go out at least once during the night, generally at the most inopportune moment. Nothing kills the romance quite so effectively as having to pull on some semblance of decent clothing, and stumble around outside after a dog as he tries to find that special place to do his business. Especially if you then need to clean up the resulting stinky business and carry it to the nearest bin. At Heero's house, he's installed a pet flap in the kitchen door, so he (again Smokey, not Heero) can go in and out when he wants.

'He's OK for now, I think. He usually whines when he really needs to go out. He's probably just bored out there by himself.'

'Maybe you should get him a friend?'

'Yeah, I'd like to, I do think about it sometimes, but I don't really have space for two dogs.'

'I do. You know, if you two moved in with me, we'd never have to get up in the middle of the night again.'

'Seriously?'

Admittedly, I do spend a lot of time there, and I've had my own key for weeks, but – actually moving in with him is still a pretty massive step.

'You don't have to,' Heero says quickly, watching my expression. 'I mean, you could, any time. If you wanted. I just wanted to say that you would be very welcome. And Smokey. And you could keep this place, and rent it out, or we could stay here sometimes if we're going out in the city. Anything you liked.'

I have to kiss him then, because he's obviously picked up on just how important it is to me to have my own place. It's nowhere near as amazing as Heero's glorious house, or my much-loved, long-lost beach house, but I like it. It's in a new block overlooking the harbour, so I've got amazing views. Plus, it's the first property I've ever owned outright, in my own name. No one can take it away from me.

It's my sanctuary, after a couple of years of living out of my car, or staying on friends' floors or couches or futons, or living in crappy rented studios.

It's mine.

'I...kind of have a lot of stuff.' Silly, but it's the first thing I blurt out.

'I've noticed. I have a big house, Duo. I could have more storage space installed.' He's sporting the little half-smile, amused and indulgent, that he gets whenever I start talking about clothes. Normally, I don't mind, but tonight, it flicks me on a raw nerve. I don't care if the rest of the world thinks I'm some superficial, fashion-obsessed fluffhead.

Couldn't care less.

But I don't want my boyfriend thinking that.

'Heero, do you know what my earliest memory is?'

He shakes his head, since of course he doesn't. I've never told anyone, but he looks a bit nervous. He knows pretty much everything about my past; he knows it can't be a happy memory. He's obviously expecting me to talk about rats, or scavenging in dustbins, or just being hungry.

'No, it's OK, it's something nice. I think I was about six or seven maybe,' I say slowly, rolling on to my back and staring up at the ceiling. I don't want to look at him while I'm saying any of this. 'I mean, I do remember lots of little bits and pieces before then, but this is my first real _vivid_ memory, you know? I was in this park, and I'm still not sure what I was doing there.' I'd never quite been sure about that; I think there was maybe some sort of fair or festival, and I guess I'd been taken there with a few of the other kids, to beg or pick pockets or whatever. I'd probably wandered off at some point, because at the start of the dream, I'm alone.

'I'm in this flower garden,' I tell Heero. 'I don't think I'd ever been anywhere like that before. It was – like magic. So many colours, and butterflies – I'd never seen butterflies before, I didn't even know what they were. It was perfect, like paradise.' (With a jolt, I suddenly realise that it was like Trowa's garden.) And then there was this little dog, a puppy. I think it might have been a Maltese or a poodle, one of those little white fluffy ones, you know? It was so cute!' I can still remember those bright black eyes looking at me, the softness of its fur, the tiny pink tongue curling around my finger. We'd played a game of tag around the flowers, chasing each other, and then falling in a heap under a bush.

Heero's smiling softly when I glance at him, as I tell him all this. Of course he is. It's adorable, right? A tiny version of me, playing with a puppy. What a perfect first memory for anyone to have.

'I think we both fell asleep; it was a hot day, and we'd been running around a lot.'

I sneak another look at Heero; his eyes are half-closed, but he looks happy, and I can see he's imagining the scene in his head. Little Duo curled up in a flower bed. It's greetings-card cute.

'That was the good bit.' I can actually hear the tone of my voice change. 'It changed after that. There were these two guys; they were park-keepers or gardeners or something. They were looking for the little dog; I guess it had wandered off and the owners reported it missing, and they started shouting that I'd stolen it. One of them, the older one, had grabbed me and starting shaking me and yelling, and the other one, the youngish one, had just looked at me.

I'd only been a kid, but I'd known that there were monsters in the world. I'd seen stuff. I knew what happened when guys looked at you like that. Looked at street kids who'd never be missed.

'Then, there were these two ladies.' If I close my eyes, I can still see them so perfectly. 'They were like, I dunno, princesses out of a story book, and they smelled like flowers. They told this guy to put me down, to stop hurting me. I didn't think he'd pay any attention, because they were just girls, really, but of course he did, 'cause they were all dressed up and elegant, and they spoke the right way, and looked right, like they were rich. That's what clothes are, you see,' I finish quietly. 'Camouflage. If you're dressed right, if you look right, you can get away with anything. That restaurant we were in tonight, I was just thinking before you got there, they'd have chased me off when I was a kid.'

I knew that, I'd been chased away from plenty of back doors. I knew the things they shouted at you, that they'd take a swing at you if you weren't fast enough.

'Fast forward ten years, and I'm still the same person, really, but I'm dressed properly, so I get the head waiter fawning over me. I dunno. It's all about appearances, Heero. The way people treat you, it's based on how you look, what they think you are.'

I don't really think he'll understand any of that. Yeah, he didn't have the best childhood in lots of ways, but he was incredibly privileged in others. He'd been educated at one of the most exclusive boarding schools in Europe, at a top university. He's never had anyone look at him like he's lower than dirt, like stinking street trash.

We are worlds apart, really.

He doesn't say anything at all, to start, just sits up beside me, and slides an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. 'I know appearances do matter,' he says finally, very softly. 'I know that. But I think the way people respond to you – it's not just how you're dressed, it's your smile, it's how you're always so friendly to people, so interested in them. God, Duo, I'll never forget you standing in front of me, that day in the bookshop, the way you smiled at me. I'll always remember that, but I haven't a clue what you were wearing; actually, you'll probably belt me for that but I never notice your clothes.'

'What?' I let out a little snort of mock-affront...in truth, I might have been able to summon up just a little more indignation, except, well, he's wrapped around and telling me these amazing things. 'Do you have _any_ idea how long it takes me to get ready whenever I'm going out with you? And I don't believe you anyway. I know you like my dark blue jeans.'

'I like what's under them,' he says slyly, one hand slipping down my back to curve around that particular body-part. 'And I happen to prefer you _au natural._ Like this, in fact.'

'Oh, do you now?' I shift a little in his arms, just enough to face him. 'Are you sure about the whole moving in thing? 'Cause we did just have a major row and all?'

'And we talked about it and made up,' he points out reasonably. 'I believe that's what people do.'

'I believe so, yes,' I say, mimicking his dry tone. 'I dunno, Heero. It's a pretty big thing.' A leap of faith. We don't know each other that well, after only three months.

'I know. It's too soon for you, isn't it? I'm sorry, it just slipped out. I didn't think about it properly. I didn't mean to pressure you into anything.' He leans forward, across the very brief space separating us, and brushes his mouth against mine, too fleeting even to be called a kiss. 'It's fine, Duo, really. We can talk about it later.'

'No, listen, I – I didn't say definitely not.' It's a big thing for him. I know that. He's another person who regards his house as his private sanctuary against the world, more than me, even. Yeah, sure, his friends visit and stay over sometimes, but I'm the only person who's there on such a regular basis. I think I'm the only person who's essentially moved in to his personal space. And he might be letting on that it was a spontaneous slip of the tongue, but I know him. He wouldn't just come out with something like that unless he'd been thinking a lot about it first. He'd maybe been planning all along to ask me tonight. It's a huge thing for him, since I know just how much he likes solitude.

And I've basically shot him down.

'I'd like to, honestly,' I say, firmly holding his gaze. 'Heero, I'd love it, but like you said, it is kind of soon. Do you think we could do some sort of trial period? You know, like restaurants have this 'soft' opening periods? I could stay over for three or four nights every week, and we could just see how it goes? Kind of get used to being around each other so much?'

'Absolutely!' He gives me one of those rather rare, heartfelt smiles. I think there's maybe just a tinge of relief in there too. It's a good compromise; he won't have me invading his personal space all the time.

'Oh, good.' I stretch against him, very deliberately bringing certain parts of my anatomy in very direct contact with him. 'So, this is supposed to be our anniversary and everything, and we should be celebrating, and you just said you liked me all natural and naked and stuff, so do you think we could maybe...?'

Exactly on cue, my beloved dog whines outside, plaintive and demanding.

'Right,' I say briskly. Plan B it is, apparently. 'The whole moving in with you thing. How soon exactly can we come?'


End file.
